For Whom The Bell Tolls
by Stellar V
Summary: AU Senshi x Shitennou. When two forces collide, love and duty, which will prevail? A tale of love and war, set in World War 2.
1. Prologue

**Setting:** France, World War 2 _(between 1940 – 1944 when France was under German occupation)_

**Main cast:**

Kunzite = Konrad Dietrich  
Zoisite = Zachary Keitel  
Jadeite = Johan von Fristch  
Nephrite = Nikolaus Herschel  
Minako = Marianne Lavigne  
Ami = Ameline von Kluge  
Rei = Roxanne Delacroix (Renée)  
Makoto = Gabrielle Dupont

_This is a work of fiction so there will be certain historical inaccuracies. Rating may go up for later chapters._

* * *

"_Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee"  
\- John Donne_

**Chapter 1 - Prologue**

**_June 1944_**

_The waves brought a cool sensation to his numb and blood-stained body, awaking him from unconsciousness. He opened his eyes to the sandy ground now covered in corpses and shelling debris. Smoke and dust blurred his vision as the deafening screams and noises of guns firing raged on._

_Slowly the man picked himself up. Blood was dripping from wounds marked across his bodies, but he paid them no attention as he looked up to the blue sky now finally clear of rain and clouds. He closed his eyes again, this time envisioning a much brighter setting. _

_There was a church, a white church, with a big golden bell. He could almost hear its toll._  
_There were two faces. One was his. They were smiling. _

_And he smiled._

_._

_._

_Days later, as people gathered by the beautiful white church, for the first time in months, its bell was rung._

_The bell tolled, each toll long and heavy, like dropping a weight onto the listener's heart.  
Was it a joyful toll in celebration of a wedding, or a dreadful signal of a funeral coming to an end?_

* * *

**Lyon, May 1940**

Lyon was a city located in east-central France and home to many of the country's cinematic treasures. After all, it was here that cinematography was invented. About 300 miles away from Paris and away from the atrocities of war, the people of Lyon were passing their days in modest quietude, sensing the impending doom on the country's doorstep.

Inside a middle-class home situated by the bank of the Saône River, a family of three was gathered around the radio. Their prayers were uttered in silence as they listened to bolstering words of encouragement from their leaders.

"Do you think we'll make it? Even the Netherlands and Belgium have fallen…" Turning off the radio, the middle-aged woman asked her family, though it was visible from her facial expression she had already known the answer.

Her husband simply shook his head as he buried his face in his palm.

"We beat them before. Surely this time... And more British troops are arriving in Dunkirk as we speak," her voice was barely above a whisper.

At that moment, their young daughter stood up and headed for the door.

"Marianne, where are you going?" the woman called after her daughter.

"To the studio, I have some scenes to shoot today."

"But it's-"

The door was slammed shut before she could finish.

Outside, the sky had never looked so bleak, Marianne thought.

* * *

**Paris, June 1940 **

June 14th, the German army marched into Paris as thousands of its citizens looked on in horror. The mighty France had capitulated. German Divisions were now parading through the Arc of Triumph.

Leading the Second Panzer Division was General Konrad Dietrich, the architect behind this lightning conquest that had brought three countries to their heels. His military career had brought him to many places, Poland, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, and now to the country of Napoleon – one of the few figures who truly commanded Konrad's respect. Not even his current superiors afforded such privilege.

From his tank, the 27-year-old General gazed upon the famed "City of Light" for the first time in his life. The rumors certainly had not done it justice. It was a good thing the French had surrendered quickly. It would have been a shame to see these magnificent buildings in ruins.

This parade could not end soon enough, much to his dismay.

Hours later, as the sun was setting on Paris, just like it had on French hegemony, Konrad stood on the hill across the Seine River, gazing upon the Eiffel Tower - the prize which had deluded the Kaiser in 1914. Yet, here stood Konrad, once just a farmer boy from East Prussia, who had managed to claim this prize in barely a fortnight. He almost chuckled at the irony.

When Konrad was not busy being a ruthless commander on the battlefield, he was a man to appreciate beauty in its true form, such was the scenery before him now. Even so, nothing would ever bring him more joy than the sight of victorious battles and glory to his nation. The young General held nothing more sacred than his military oath and his duty to the Fatherland.

_Beauty will fade with time. Only glory is eternal._ He had always believed.

Sounds of coming footsteps soon shook him out of his contemplation.

The approaching officer dutifully saluted Konrad and proceeded to stand beside the stoic General. He was Konrad's trusted comrade and life-long friend, Major Zachary Keitel.

For a while they stood there in perfect silence, until one of them could no longer take it.

"We've won. _You've_ won. You could at least crack up a smile," the young Major spoke up.

"Celebration is still a bit premature at this stage, don't you think?" Konrad's eyes were locked on the Swastika Flag hanging above the Eiffel Tower.

"Mope all you want, but please don't infect me with your glorious pessimism." Zachary rolled his eyes.

"We've let the British escape across the Channel." His brows furrowed slightly at the memory. It had indeed been an unforgivable mistake.

"Would you let it go? Because speaking of celebration, the Field Marshal is expecting us at the party down at city hall tomorrow night," said Zachary, casting a hopeful glance at his friend.

"Do I still have to go if I already knew what he wanted to announce?"

"You always do, don't you?" asked Zachary, his voice dripping with amusement. "Alright, what is it?"

"Starting next month, our division will be stationed in France. Lyon, to be precise."

"Lyon? What are we to do there?" Zachary did not take this bit of news well. Certainly they did not went through hell and back just to be transferred to a non-strategic little town in France?

Konrad seemed to be in deep contemplation, his eyes on the horizon. "Why don't you ask the Field Marshal yourself? And while you're at it, go inform Johan as well." With that he turned in the other direction and walked away.

"I haven't seen him since his laughable blunder at Dunkirk!" protested Zachary.

"There's a party. He'll turn up," came the General's nonchalant reply.

"Sure you don't want to go? Beautiful French singers and actresses in the house!" Zachary could not hide the amusement in his voice.

"Then I'm positive you'll find Johan there."

"Is that a yes or no?" Zachary shouted after him.

Only silence came for his question this time.

**End of Chapter 1**

* * *

**Historical notes (skip them if you don't like boring historical facts):**

German army ranks during WW2 used in my fic, in descending order: _(The US/UK equivalent terms)_  
Field Marshal - General - Colonel - Major - Captain - Lieutenant - Private

Panzer: name for German tank  
Kaiser: title of the German Kings

In the first years of World War 2, Germany was very successful, conquering almost half of continental Europe by 1941.

The Dunkirk evacuation: many British troops were able to escape from the seaport of Dunkirk to England after the fall of France because the German army fatally halted its own advance.


	2. Paris, when it sizzles

_Chapter's title was borrowed from the lyrics of Cole Porter's "I love Paris"._

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Paris, when it sizzles**

**Paris, the following night**

Even the chilly drizzle outside could do nothing to dampen the Germanic spirit of this joyous celebration. In attendance were over two hundred guests, from German officers stationed in Paris to leaders of the new French government and a handful of A-list personalities, some looking happier than the others.

Tonight, Zachary Keitel belonged to the latter.

He was leaning back casually against the wall, a half-empty glass of Champagne in his hand. His long wavy hair was tied back in a ponytail, barely a tuft out of place, and his impeccable uniform was neatly tucked in

Music was lovely. Food was great. Company, on the other hand, could not be worse. Endless rounds of frivolous pleasantries with the high officials and a band of clingy debutantes were not what he had signed up for. His sworn brothers-in-arms had all but deserted him to this tedious caucus of a celebration. Apparently they'd all rather be climbing the Alps than spend a minute around these bigwigs. All but one particular man, Johan.

Yet, strangely enough, the said man was nowhere in sight. Zachary sighed as he took another gulp of wine.

Running his green eyes through the crowd, he seemed to finally find solace from a figure across the room. A girl was sitting alone by the windows staring down at her glass. She looked like someone who could hold a real conversation for more than five minutes.

_They could both use some company,_ he thought.

Adjusting his uniform, he made his way through the crowd. As Zachary was about to call out for her attention, someone else got his.

"Zach!" He turned around at the sound of his name.

"Maxie! Thanks God." Zachary relaxed at the sight of his old friend. Maximilian von Rundstedt, the now approaching black-haired man, was a Field Marshal in the German army and Zachary's and Konrad's direct commander in France.

"Enjoying the party?" smiled Maximilian.

"Splendidly," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Where's your wife?"

The Marshal and his childhood sweetheart had been married not too long ago. The honeymoon glow had yet to fade from the man's face, despite the gruesome fighting he had endured in the past weeks, not to mention the storm of protests from his family and fellow officers when Maximillian decided to informed them that his bride-to-be was the princess of the abdicated Kaiser.

"She's chatting with some violinist in the hall. You know how she is at these events," Maximilian chuckled. He could not have chosen a better wife for this.

"So, my dear Field Marshal, if you could please tell me," Zachary asked, twisting a lock of his blonde hair. "Why are we stationing in Lyon?"

"Konrad told you, I presume? I think you would have figured it out yourself, pretty boy."

People gave Zachary too much credit sometimes. The 24-year-old Major, young for a man of his position, did try hard to live up to his reputation nevertheless. "Well, I did come up with an idea or two. But I suppose it doesn't really matter. This will only be a temporary deal, correct?" Zachary replied matter-of-factly, taking another sip from his glass.

"You're not only pretty, you're smart," the Field Marshal's raucous laughter could be heard across the room, startling quite a few guests.

At his words Zachary glanced up to see two beautiful ladies coming their way. "Here comes your wife. And the lady accompanying her, I assume, is the violinist you'd mentioned?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Because I'm not only pretty, I'm also smart," he shrugged.

_'And also vain'_, Maximillian made a mental note to himself.

"Zachary, you're here!" The bubbly blonde pulled him in for a hug.

"You look great, Susanna," he smiled. The princess radiated with more energy every time he saw her.

"You too," She turned to her guest. "Mademoiselle Reynaud, let me introduce you. This is Major Zachary Keitel of the 4th Infantry Division under my husband's command."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle. And, actually, it's the _5th_ Infantry Division," he stressed, not wanting to leave any misconception of his prestigious title.

"Oops, excusez-moi. And Zach, this is the famed violinist Michelle Reynaud."

"The pleasure is all mine, Major." Michelle's voice was as soft and gentle as the ocean waves. The very same thing could be said about her hair. There was an aura of mystic and graceful sophistication surrounding her features.

"Oh dear, the Minister of Propaganda's just arrived. We should go over there, Maxie." Susanna quickly took her husband's hand and led him away. "We'll talk later, Zachary, Michelle!" Maximillian could only shake his head. Just like that they were out of sight in mere seconds.

"How are you enjoying the party, Mademoiselle Reynaud? You know, I'm actually a keen fan of your music," Zachary started working his conversational skill, the very talent that got him going to all these events in the first place. Unlike most of his comrades, he had been specially trained in the art of banter and pleasantry since he was ten. It was a privilege, or perhaps a burden, one received for being born into a noble Prussian family.

"You are too kind, Major. I wish I could say the same about your… recent accomplishments." She gave him the faintest smile, her eyes looking down at her glass.

Stifling a slight cough, he changed the subject. "So, are you here with anyone tonight?"

"Yes, I am here with a friend. She is sitting over-" Michelle peered over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed. "It seems as though she has already left. Please excuse me, Major. I should really go look for her. It's her first time at such an event."

"It was nice meeting you. I'm very much looking forward to your next concert," he raised his glass to hers.

"Thank you. Have a nice evening, Major," she courteously sipped down her wine.

Just as Michelle went out of view, a wolf whistle from behind drew his attention. Turning around, Zachary found a man with short curly blonde hair smirking at him. The man was Johan von Fritsch, First Lieutenant of the 12th Artillery Division and his most wanted man of the night.

"Champagne? Really? I thought this was supposed to be a German celebration," smirked Johan, downing his beer cup.

* * *

**Meanwhile**

A lone maiden stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, peacefully relishing in the quiet solitude and away from the commotion going on back inside. It had simply been too suffocating, even though she had barely been in contact with any guest the whole evening.

She peered up at the sky only to find, to her disappointment, the dark clouds had hidden the moon and even the stars tonight.

She opened up her palm to catch the falling drops of water from the earlier rain. From here, she could spot the Eiffel Tower, and also the flag now flying above it. Her fist clenched unconsciously at the view.

"Why is such a beauty standing out here all alone?" A male voice shook her out of her thoughts.

* * *

Zachary had never been good at keeping his composure, unlike a certain man whose absence tonight had already spoiled much of his mood. He sauntered over to the snickering Johan, who looked wonderfully comfortable with two beautiful ladies on his sides.

"Ladies, could you please give us a minute alone?" Zachary asked politely, earning himself a playful wink from one of the girls.

Johan teasingly called after them, "Come back later! I have more medals to sho –"

"Where have _you_ been?" Zachary hissed through his teeth.

"Just keeping those lovely ladies company," Johan shrugged, taking another gulp of his beer. In truth, he too had not been enjoying this party. Much like he never enjoyed pretty much everything else in his life, save a few worthy moments on the battlefield.

"I meant for the past week. And by the way, I could have used a bit of that company." Zachary sat down, crossing both his arms and legs.

"From what I saw, you were doing just fine back there. She had a nice ass," Johan leaned back on the sofa, throwing his head back.

"We were _making conversation_! And could you please not use that kind of language with me," Zachary grunted.

"Lighten up, pretty boy. So, what's up?" Johan lit his cigarette and released a puff of smoke into the air.

Zachary immediately covered his nose and scooted away. "By order of the Marshal, our group is to station in Lyon starting next month."

"Huh. Is that so?" Johan's voice did not show the slightest hint of surprise or care.

"Yes, that's so. So start packing your things, Lieutenant!" Zachary was just about ready to stand up and leave. He was only here to finish Konrad's little assignment and he did.

"I, too, have some news for you," Johan cocked a sardonic eyebrow. "Do you want to hear the good one or the bad one first?" His fingers flicked the cigarette's ashes onto the marble floor.

"Just say it already," Zachary's patience with this man was running out. It was a good thing he had left his gun at home.

Johan mulled over his cup. "I heard the Gestapo will be arriving in France soon. I'm guessing some of them will be tagging along to Lyon. Their Captain is already here in town, some guy named Nikolaus."

"Of that I am already well-informed. Thank you," Zachary snorted, but not just at his friend's remark.

The Gestapo. Zachary never really cared for those buffoons. Coming from a Prussian family with a long-standing military tradition, Zachary was every bit as proud as he was vain. He refused to acknowledge this _criminal_ organization as part of the German militarism.

"Maybe this second news will cheer you up. I saw dear, sweet Ameline today at her papa's office," Johan waited for his friend's reaction.

"What's she doing in France?" Zachary retorted, tightening the grip on his glass.

_This child…_ _He is too easy to read, _Johan had always thought.

"How should I know? She's _your_ fiancée. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get another refill." Johan patted his friend's shoulder and rushed to a group of actresses nearby.

The night was still young.

* * *

"What are you doing out here all alone, beautiful?"

The girl turned around to find a group of German soldiers, obviously drunk, staring at her like a pack of hungry wolves. She took a cautious step back. _'As if this night had not been bad enough already'._

"Come play with us." One of them walked up and put his arm around her waist.

"Officer, please mind your manners," she said, tossing his hand away from her body.

"Feisty this one is. I like her," another one chimed in.

Realizing it would be a waste of time trying to talk any sense into any of them, she rushed past the drunk men currently blocking the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" One of them grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Let go of me!" she shouted and wasted no time in digging her nails into his hand. She was done being polite.

"You little bitch," he pushed her to the ground and raised his hand, ready to strike down.

"I suggest you put down your arm and cease your harassment with the lady." A voice from behind startled them all. The drunk man stopped dead in his tracks as he faced the intruder.

"Ge…Ge…General!" Immediately they stood to attention and saluted their commander.

Pulling herself up, the girl looked over to her savior, as blue eyes met silver ones.

**End of Chapter 2**

* * *

**Author's note:**

I know the pace is a bit slow but I want to properly flesh out my characters first.

You may have guessed: Maximillian = Mamoru; Susanna = Usagi; Michelle = Michiru

**Historical notes:**

Historically Lyon wasn't militarily occupied by Germany until 1942, but for the sake of the story, let's assume it was.

Prussia: an old German Kingdom in Northern Europe that unified all the German States into the present-day Germany in 1871. The Prussian State was officially abolished after World War 2. It is often perceived as the symbol of the old German power and militarism. In the words of Napoleon Bonaparte: "Prussia was hatched from a cannonball".

The Gestapo was an organization of secret police responsible for matters of security and racial policy in Germany and later in occupied Europe. They were not a part of the German Army.


	3. Silver and Gold

_For the sake of the story, let's assume they all speak the same language._

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Silver and Gold**

It was not like Marianne had never seen attractive men before. Au contraire, she had often worked with many male co-stars who happened to possess the kind of charm that easily sold out tickets and captured a young maiden's heart at first glance. Yet, here she was, simply staring at this 'being', entranced. Handsome would not be quite the appropriate word to describe him. Intimidating? His subordinates had dared not move an inch and neither had her body. Captivating? She couldn't find the will to avert her gaze from his face.

His unusual platinum-blonde hair was of a much lighter shade than hers, more silvery than buttery. His uniform's insignia indicated a position of high authority.

_What did they call him? General? _she tried to recall.

Piercing silvery eyes whose expression revealed nothing stared back at hers, carefully appraising. One could easily get lost in those icy orbs. Everything about him was screaming impenetrable fortress. The only human parts exhibiting any emotion at all were his eyebrows, which were slightly furrowing perhaps in disapproval of his officers' misconduct.

"You there, Private, help the lady to her feet," he commanded, his voice deep and stern.

Marianne flustered at his words, but not because she had been expecting any knight in shining armor to sweep his damsel in distress off her feet. _Definitely not! _she yelled inwardly_._ She merely did not want those men laying another finger on her body.

She tossed her waist-length hair over her shoulder, veiling the creamy naked skin exposed by her low-back dress, and quickly got on her feet before the Private could carry out his order. She stood, in her golden gown and her equally golden hair, a glow of brilliant yellow against the dark blue sky.

"May I please be excused now, officers?" Her question was directed at all six men on the scene, while her tone implied it was intended for the particular stonewall standing in the doorway.

Seeing their superior had yet to say anything, the other men dared not breathe a word.

Not waiting any longer for a reply, she strutted forward and stopped before the living obstacle. Their eyes met for a brief yet intense moment, silver against blue.

He then simply stepped aside. In the fleeting instant that she brushed past him, a distinct scent, that of honey and sunshine, penetrated his senses.

"…didn't even… thank you to the General, ungrateful little..." one of the men behind them muttered. His fellow soldiers shot him desperate glares, as if begging the man to stop talking. He was too drunk to realize he had not kept his voice low enough. Barely half-way from the balcony, Marianne stopped.

"It is not _she_ who should say thank you. It is _we_ who owe her an apology," the General corrected, loudly and clearly, as he shot his subordinates a menacing look before sauntering after Marianne.

"I, General Konrad Dietrich of the German Army, humbly apologize to you for the inappropriate manners my officers have displayed tonight," said the gravelly voice above her head. She could tell he was standing right behind her. His large shadows loomed over hers on the stone floor of the dimly lit corridor.

"Why should I accept _your_ apology, when it was _they_ who wronged me?" she stressed, copying his tone earlier. Konrad did not see her lips were curving into a smile for her back was to him, and she missed his just the same. The other men could only stare in astonishment at the boldness of the French girl.

"Konrad!" a familiar voice interrupted Konrad just as he was about to speak. "I thought I heard voices out here. Didn't you say you weren't coming?" Zachary's excited voice filled the corridor. His face had never looked more alive tonight.

"I said nothing of the sort," came Konrad's only reply.

"…could've at least told me…" Zachary mumbled, turning his attention to the stranger before him. His eyes slightly dilated in surprise as he registered her face. The lonely figure from before had managed to find new company, and not just any company_._

"And who is this lovely lady?" Zachary smiled courteously at her, his eyes not letting pass how close Konrad and the French beauty were standing to each other.

"Marianne!" Immediately a female figure rushed to Marianne's side. "There you are."

"Michelle." Marianne gave her friend a placid nod, visibly annoyed by the second intrusion.

"Major Keitel, I see you have met my friend." Michelle put a protective arm around Marianne's and herself between the two parties.

"So the beautiful lady is your friend. I should have guessed." The curiosity was evident in his eyes.

"This is Marianne Lavigne, one of French cinema's fledgling artist."

"I can speak for myself, you know," huffed Marianne.

"An actress? So young?" Zachary carefully analyzed the girl who looked to be only in her late-teens.

"She is not yet well-known here, but back in Lyon, Marianne is quite the household name."

"Lyon?" Zachary asked, visibly surprised. Even Konrad could not hide his similar reaction.

"We are from Lyon," answered Michelle.

"What a twist of fate this must be," he said, casting a dispassionate glance at Konrad. "_We're_ moving to Lyon. Perhaps we'll see you there."

"Yes, perhaps we shall," Marianne remarked, her eyes flashed momentarily to the stoic General.

"If you don't mind me asking, what movies have you starred in, Marianne? I would love to check them out," Zachary asked with the utmost interest in his voice, bringing her attention back to him.

An eternity of minutes later, after the Major was done with all his questions, and only because Konrad had subtly cleared his throat, Michelle and Marianne bid them goodnight and took their leave.

Just as Marianne was about to turn at the corner, a husky voice called after her.

"Lady Lavigne, it seems I failed to settle your little incident properly tonight. However, if you are in Lyon and ever in need of assistance, I'll be waiting in my office."

Marianne did not reply, and soon she and her friend were out of sight.

"As for you five," Konrad said, not glancing back, to the seemingly forgotten men who had been shivering out in the balcony all this time. "I expect you in my office tomorrow morning by 7 o'clock. Dismissed"

"What was that all about?" questioned Zachary after they were out of hearing. "Why were you two out here? And what –"

"Goodnight, Zach."

"Konrad Dietrich, you stop right there!"

* * *

Outside the dark clouds had drifted away, baring behind them an empty black field. The palely illuminated streets of Paris against the moonless night sky seemed full of loneliness and forlorn beauty. Curtains had fallen on a thousand windows, their lights extinguished, as Paris fell into its slumber. A short line of moving lights crept upon the desolated avenue, among them stood out a gleaming limousine gliding its way along the lonely gravel path, heading for the uptown hotel.

Peering out of the rain-streaked windows of her limousine, Marianne lazily rested her head against the frame. Silky golden hair tumbled in a cascade down her back. Opposite sat Michelle, her friend and mentor in the show business. They had been quiet for most of the ride, worn-out from the party.

"About earlier… You may want to keep away from those Germans in the future," Michelle finally spoke.

"I'm not scared of any German," answered Marianne staunchly, with a certain silvery figure in her mind.

"I had told you not to wander off by yourself. Did you at least meet with the casting director?" For this very reason Michelle had insisted that Marianne come along. Gifted as she was, good roles didn't always come so naturally to young actresses. Tonight an opportunity had presented itself. There was an upcoming movie to be shot in Lyon by one of French top directors, who happened to attend the event.

"I did. But I'm not sleeping with that pig, if that is what you're suggesting!"

"I will not go that far, but you'll still need to pamper him a little."

"Fine…" she yielded unwillingly. Her ego was strong, but never enough to undermine her shrewdness. "To be honest, I haven't given that much thought to this role ever since the war started."

"I understand. But it's all over now, and soon this chance will be if you don't take it." The role was perfect for her, and the film would be shot right in her hometown. Marianne would be a fool not to jump at this opportunity.

"I miss Lyon already."

Marianne closed her eyes and let her mind roam the streets of Lyon, ones gleaming with different colors and candles, the Festival of Lights.

* * *

**Lyon, July 1940**

Zachary twisted the rusty lock and pushed open the windows, soaking in the summer morning's breeze.

"I love this town. There's an airy and welcoming feeling to it. It kinda reminds me of my home back in Königsberg. Don't you think so, Konrad? And I can see the river from my office room, and that magnificent bell by the church." He went on with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Lyon's city hall had been requisitioned as their military headquarter, with the old mayor's room reserved for the none other than his friend Konrad, the current highest authority in town. The newly refurbished room was, in truth, relatively modest in decoration, consisting of nothing more than a few bookcases. The grandest feature worthy of any attention was perhaps the large painting hung proudly behind the General's seat, the portrait of Frederick the Great of Prussia.

Today was their first official day in Lyon, and in a true Konrad's fashion, the man had wasted no time in summoning him and Johan to his office at 7AM sharp, having cited his usual favorite "matters of utmost importance to be discussed".

"Would you shut up already?" cried Johan, stifling an unsightly yawn. It was obvious the Lieutenant had stayed up late last night, but for whatever nocturnal activities Zachary cared not to find out.

"Well, excuse me for enjoying this beautiful morning," huffed the Major.

"Enough, you two," came Konrad's stern order.

Before Konrad could proceed to give them a proper lecture on officer etiquette, a knock on the door had interrupted.

"General, Captain Herschel of the Gestapo is here to see you."

"Thank you. Please send him in."

For Zachary, his beautiful morning had suddenly turned bleak at the mention of the name "Gestapo". Crossing his arms, he walked up to the opened window and fixed his gaze on the scenery outside, refusing to acknowledge whoever was about to walk through the door.

Johan could only chuckle at his friend's childish behavior.

As the door swung open, a tall and well-built man stepped through. Johan didn't need to stand up to know the man had replaced him as the second tallest man in the room, behind only the brooding General himself. One thing was for sure. Long brunette hair was an unusual fashion choice for a man of his profession.

"Morning, General, gentlemen." He made a perfunctory salute at his two superiors, one of whom, for unknown reason, had refused to return the gesture. "Nikolaus Herschel of the Gestapo, at your service."

"Welcome to Lyon, Captain." Konrad gestured for him to sit down. "I'm sure you have a lot of things to attend to, so I will make this quick. There are a few things I want to go over with you today."

Leaning back comfortably on his armchair, Johan quietly observed the Captain with an anticipating glee. Watching other people dealing with Konrad was his fourth-favorite pastime, and the experience would be more completely were there alcohol around.

"... a complete report of the personnel under your administration on my desk by this afternoon. Thirdly, I shall hold direct jurisdiction over your operations..."

Konrad's words trailed off in Johan's mind, a few bits passing here and there. In truth, he hadn't been paying that much attention in the first place though sometimes he would glance over to the Captain, who, to his surprise, was still listening with the utmost attentive expression on his face.

It was half past 8 when Konrad finally let the poor man leave, and by which time even Zachary had given up on his childish charade to come to sit down.

"That annoying Bavarian accent..." Zachary finally spoke, the revulsion easily detectable in his tone.

"Hm? I thought he was Austrian", answered Johan. He wasn't so sure of that either. The man didn't get that many chances to speak.

"More importantly, what was up with his hair? And did you see those boots?" exclaimed Zachary as if it he had just witnessed a human travesty.

"Perhaps you can give him a makeover?"

"For the last time–" grunted Konrad, rubbing his temple furiously.

* * *

**Lyon, August 1940**

Marianne could not be happier to finally be back home, or so she had thought. So much had changed in a couple of months. The usual lively streets of Lyon were now filled with German soldiers patrolling, pedestrians quietly moving along, fear written across their faces. Many people shut themselves inside their homes. All lights were out before 9PM to avoid unwanted attention. The atmosphere back at her house was not much different.

"I hear they are rounding up Jews," her father commented nervously.

"So what? We'll be fine as long as we don't intervene in their affairs." Her mother did not hesitate even for one second before blurting it out.

"Mom, how could you say such a thing!" cried Marianne as once again she had to run outside to avoid looking at the self-centered woman whom she called mother.

Her back against a tree, she closed her eyes and fought back the anger. _'Many of their friends and relatives are Jewish, and one of them is her -'_

"Annie!"

Marianne did not need to turn around to see who it was, or what urgent news the person may have brought. She clenched her fist as she waited for the dreaded words.

A tall brunette girl stopped before her, panting heavily, disheveled hair dangling all over her face. She was wearing mismatched shoes.

Catching her breath, she cried out, "They just took Roxanne and her family!"

**End of Chapter 3**

* * *

**Author's note:**

Just a quick summary of the guys' profiles so far:  
Konrad Dietrich, 27 years old, General.  
Zachary Keitel, 24 years old, Major.  
Johan von Fritsch, 25 years old, First Lieutenant.  
Nikolaus Herschel, 25 years old, Captain (Gestapo).

**Historical notes:**

Festival of Lights: a French local tradition held in Lyon every 8th of December when every house places candles along the outsides of all the windows, lighting up the streets.

Königsberg: a city in East Prussia, which was once part of the old German Empire. In present day, it belongs to Russia and is known by the name "Kaliningrad."

Frederick II, known as Frederick the Great, was Prussia's king from 1740 to 1786. He was a brilliant ruler and military thinker. By winning wars against the great European nations and expanding territories, he established Prussia as a major power. Sadly, his personal life was a tragic story. _(For another chapter, perhaps)_


	4. Roxanne

**Chapter 4 – Roxanne**

Inside a prison cell on the other side of town, a group of people were huddling together, their faces weary and their bodies trembling, knowing any moment could be their last. Men, women, children, elders, all had been taken from their homes and denied a reason why. Many had died on the way here, having put up resistance.

"Mommy, when can I go home to Teddy?" spoke a young girl. Her mother did not answer but simply pulled her into an embrace while their fellow cellmates watched with silent sympathy.

"I'm hungry, mommy," the girl cried, her voice getting louder by the minute. Her mother, afraid of alerting the guards who were all too eager to jump at any chance for harassment, muffled her child's scream with her own hands.

"You shouldn't do that. You'll suffocate her." The miserable woman turned around to look for the source of the gentle voice.

"Here, you can have this."

A hand reached down and opened up in front of them, on it a small bar of chocolate, already melted in half. The mother looked up to find its owner, a beautiful girl young of age. Her daughter looked back and forth between her mother and the pretty lady, her cry stifled, before hesitantly taking the small treat into her hand.

"Thank you, kind lady," the little girl said with the sweetest smile. "And you're so pretty."

Indeed she was. But hers was not the usual visually stunning type of beauty to be found every day on streets' movie posters. Raven black hair. She had the aura of a feudal princess, full of elegance and grace. Even after hours of confinement in subhuman conditions, the exhaustion had not taken its toll on her spirit.

Her posture was relaxed and dignified, but the look in her violet eyes, the color of spirituality and nobility, was anything but gentle. There was a spark of fire, burning bright with anger. Just like her name.

Roxanne.

"What's with all the commotion?"

People immediately backed away to the corners as the Gestapo guard made his way to their holding cell, in his hand, an iron club. His eyes like a hawk's, cold and vicious, scanned the room while his feet were dragging across the floor, slowly and agonizingly.

"You there. Woman with the baby. Come forward," he commanded, his club pointing at the mother and her child, both of whom were as white as a ghost.

"Yes… officer?"

"Is that chocolate on her mouth? Did you sneak food in here?" The child trembled under his vicious stare.

Her mother was already kicked to the ground before she could even answer. Covering her child with her body, she readied herself for any beating.

"Stop!" shouted Roxanne, putting herself between them and their oppressor, her hands restraining his club from striking down. "It was mine. I gave it to them."

"You have some nerve, girl. Step aside. I'll deal with you later."

He tried to shove her aside but her grip only tightened on his weapon. Despite her appearances, Roxanne was no delicate flower.

"Roxanne, stop!" an elder man ran forward, and immediately he was on his knees, frantically clutching the guard's foot. "Officer, please, forgive us," he begged.

"Grandpa, what are you doing?" Roxanne would not have her grandfather lowering himself to the likes of this.

"Get off my leg, old man, or you won't keep yours for long."

As much as she hated to do this, Roxanne knew she had no other choice. Quickly she leaned closer to the guard and whispered just enough for the two of them to hear. "My father is Damien Delacroix. Lay a hand on this man and you'll be sorry for the rest of your life."

"The French minister's daughter is a Jew?" he snorted but put down his arm nevertheless.

"You think I'm bluffing? Go check. It's not like I'm going anywhere," replied Roxanne boldly, her eyes full of challenge.

If the guard was intimidated, he hid his reaction well. Clearing his throat, he turned around to the rest of the room. "All of you keep quiet down here. The next time I hear any noise, somebody is going to get it."

He walked off, but not before sparing Roxanne another murderous glance. The room went back to its silence.

"Are you alright?" Roxanne helped her grandfather to his feet.

"I'm fine, child. You, on the other hand, need to stop giving this old man a heart attack. We need to stay safe until your father comes get us out."

Her father, or estranged father, to be exact, was the new French minister. If their relationship was already strained when he chose to neglect his family in favor of political advance, it was further broken the moment he declared himself part of the new pro-German-occupied government. They had not seen each other in years, but it seemed right now he was their last hope.

Roxanne had noticed a certain figure was observing them from behind the bars. He was standing on the stairs, his back against the walls, his face void of any emotion, as if watching a play come to its anticlimactic finish. His golden locks shimmered with a sunshine glow, yet his sapphire eyes were as cold as the deep, dark ocean.

If there was anything Roxanne loathed more than oppression, it was indifference. Misguided behaviors could always be amended. However, there was no cure for indifference, she believed. People who stood by in the face of injustice were no better than those who inflicted it.

His uniform was different from that of the guards here, she had noted. But it made no difference, for they were monsters all the same to her. She was watching him watching her. His emotionless face turned into an amused look as he seemed to have spotted the look of contempt in her eyes, and he smirked. Irritated and embarrassed by the gesture, Roxanne turned away.

Not long after, a group of guards came down with trays full of what looked like leftovers from their afternoon meal.

"All right, you people. Meal time. Come up here and take your food when I call out your name."

"Enjoy it. Might be your last meal," one of the other guards cackled.

When Roxanne turned back to the bars, the earlier man was gone. Patiently she waited for her turn.

"Roxanne Delacroix!"

When Roxanne walked past the guards she could feel their hungry eyes feasting after her. She had hated men for a reason.

Suddenly her body tensed as she felt a presence lurking behind, and it was definitely not a pleasant one.

"You know, I might be able to get you out of here," spoke a male voice. Roxanne froze in her tracks.

He continued. "But it'll be just you though, not your grandpapa," followed by a low chuckle.

She did not reply nor did she turn around.

"No?" the voice taunted.

Still, she refused to respond.

Roxanne shuddered slightly as she felt the voice getting closer, breaths tickling on the skin of her neck. "Do you know what those guys over there will do to you? When nighttime comes and suddenly they get lonely…" he whispered slowly. "At least I won't share my-"

"Burn in hell," she grunted and shot him a look as if she were trying to vaporize him into ashes.

"Suit yourself."

She glared at his unsightly smirk one last time before turning away for good.

* * *

Zachary had asked Johan to make a 'friendly' visit to the Gestapo headquarter when the former had received words of massive civilian arrests.

"So?" the long-haired blonde inquired.

"Yes, it's true. They've rounded up all the Jews in the city." Johan let out a long sigh and slumped down in the sofa. He had barely made it back to his office for five minutes.

"And do what with them?!" demanded Zachary.

Johan chuckled and shook his head. They both knew perfectly well what fate awaited those poor souls.

"They've got orders from above. There's nothing you can do. Just drop it," said Johan.

"We don't hurt civilians. That's a soldier's honor code!" Zachary cried out in frustration, his fists slamming down on the desk.

"Well, technically they're not soldiers," Johan chimed in with his usual touch of humor.

"Can you get serious for once! This is a matter of-"

"Ladies, as I've said, you are not allowed to come inside." Voices outside interrupted yet another one of Zachary's Konrad-inspired speech, much to Johan's relief, and they rushed into the hall.

"What is going on?" Zachary inquired the officer currently struggling with two figures in the hallway.

"Major! These two ladies suddenly barged in here and demanded to see the General," he said.

Zachary narrowed his green eyes when the unwelcomed guests came into full view. Immediately he strode forward and dismissed his subordinate.

"Lady Marianne Lavigne? What brings you here?"

"I need to see General Konrad. It's urgent," Marianne said in her earnest voice.

"And what business do you have with him?" he asked, his tone flat and serious.

"I…" For some reason, the beautiful actress appeared to be in some form of shock. "He once said he still owed me a favor. I need his help."

"As I recalled he had said no such thing. I was there," Zachary was becoming increasingly unrelenting, to his own surprise.

"Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden?" she almost screamed.

If Zachary was angered by her remark, he didn't show it. "Excuse me. But this is a military headquarter. You will abide by our rules or I shall have you escorted out," he replied in a professional manner.

"Fine. I will just say it. Why have you Germans taken the Jewish civilians? What have they done wrong?"

"That… is none of our concern. I'm afraid you'll have to take this matter to the Gestapo office," replied Zachary, dropping his gaze to the floor momentarily.

"Come on, Annie. I told you this wouldn't work." Marianne's brunette companion tugged at her arm and led her out.

"Please. If you could, at least help my friend. Her name is Roxanne Delacroix," Marianne called over her shoulder for one last desperate plea.

Johan finally emerged from the corner after the two were out of sight.

"What happened to all your deep sympathy for innocent civilians just a while ago?" asked Johan.

"Does it matter? Like you said, there's nothing we can do," Zachary muttered under his breath, walking back to his office and slamming the door behind him.

_Did she say her friend's name was Roxanne?_ Johan mused.

* * *

Two groups of prisoners had already been moved out to who-knew-where, leaving just a few people left in the empty cell, Roxanne and her grandfather included.

"Why hasn't your father come for us? Surely he's known by now," said her grandfather.

"Grandpa..." There was nothing she could say.

Roxanne was Jewish only on her mother's side. Given her father's new affiliation, she had expected the worst scenario where he would choose to turn a blind eye on their doomed fate. And it seemed that fate was knocking on their door right now, as a group of Gestapo officers armed with guns made their way into the room.

"Take them outside," their leader commanded.

Roxanne clung on to her grandfather as they tried to yank him away. Around them other people were already bursting into tears, desperately crying out for their lives.

"Grandpa!" cried Roxanne, this time, even her pride could not hold back the tears.

Her grandfather glanced back at her for one last time before they dragged him away. Roxanne would never forget that look.

"This girl," the Gestapo leader pointed at Roxanne. "She stays. I'll let her join them later. But for now…" A wicked smile formed on his face.

"Just kill me!" she yelled as two men pushed her to the ground and started ripping off her clothes.

Her fists clenched so tightly her nails were digging through her own skin. Roxanne stifled her own cry, refusing to give in to their humiliation. Her eyes opened wide and glared at them in defiance. Still her body could not help but tremble when their leader started making his way towards her, his despicable face filled with lust. Panic, frustration, and agony crept through her mind.

A series of laughter, shouting, and deafening noises followed.

Roxanne screamed out loud and squeezed her eyes shut when she felt his body fall atop her, but when she opened them again, the other two men were also on the ground. A stream of red liquid began to fill the floor, some of which was dribbling down from the man's body and onto her arm.

They were all dead.

Quickly shoving the body aside, Roxanne picked herself up and wiped the tears from her face, her hands still shaking.

Coming footsteps halted behind her. A voice she recognized.

"Run. Now. And don't look back."

And she ran.

* * *

"Do you realize what you just did?" Zachary yelled at the top of his lungs. "Just wait until Konrad hears about this…" he went on.

Johan was busy with his cigarette, his eyes focusing on the dark clouds gathering outside their windows. It looked like the sky would be sobbing heavily tonight. Lost in his own thoughts, Johan did not take in any of Zachary's words, but the Major was too preoccupied with his own speech to notice.

"-what in the world possessed you to do it? Were there not enough girls available in town?"

"… my sister" Johan mumbled incoherently.

"What did you say?" Zachary turned around to look at his comrade.

"She reminded me of my sister."

Zachary said nothing more after that.

**End of chapter 4**


	5. Sowing Seeds

**Chapter 5 – Sowing Seeds  
**

**Lyon, late September 1940**

The sun had barely made its way up the sky of Lyon, its faint light yet to bring any warmth to the early Autumn morning, but many people were already out greeting the new day. Situated next to a beautiful white church, an equally beautiful little cafe was welcoming its first customer of the day.

A young woman was rushing to the table, her brunette hair, tied up in a high ponytail, bounced with each eager step she took. Taking out her notepad, she flashed her guest a welcoming smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Laurent. What will you be having today? The usual?" she spoke with a great zest.

"Yes, thank you, dear." The elder woman struggled to peer up at her attendant as the young lady was very tall, much taller than the average girl.

"One Gabrielle's breakfast special coming right up," cried her cheerful voice.

Back in her kitchen and wasting no time, Gabrielle got to work. The young chef hummed merrily as she prepared the food, her movements swift and practiced, each slice going down precisely and effortlessly, her seasoning sprinkling down without any interruption.

Cooking was Gabrielle's passion and talent. Her family's café was only a small business but never short of customers, all thanks to her cuisine finesse.

Soon the whole kitchen was filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread and Gabrielle had added the finishing touch to her dishes. "Bring this to Mrs. Laurent, will you?" she said, handing one of the plates to the waiter.

She picked up the other plate and opened the back door that led to the inner house. Walking past the orchard and down another corridor, she stopped at the small storage room and knocked.

"Ro- Renée, it's me. I've brought breakfast."

The door opened to reveal a dark, cramped room. Sitting on the broken bed was Roxanne Delacroix, or Renée - her new alias.

"Thank you," Roxanne muttered softly as she took the plate from her friend.

"Is the food okay? Do you need anything else?"

Roxanne looked down at the plate in her hand, the comforting smell of hot coffee warming up her body. Gently she shook her head. "I've already owed you and your family my life. Please don't make it harder for me," she said with a low voice, "And as long as it's your cooking, you know I have no complaint." Roxanne smiled at her friend, albeit weakly.

"Be strong, Roxanne. Just hold on for a few more days. Come next month when the last settlement is clear, it'll be safe to go out," Gabrielle said encouragingly, covering Roxanne's cold hands with hers. "I'll be back at noon."

Roxanne watched the door close before setting the plate down and walking over to the window. She opened the blinds to let the light shine through. Outside the apple orchard had been awoken by the daylight, painting a picturesque mixture of red and green.

It was not that Gabrielle's food was bad, quite the contrary, hers was one of the finest she'd ever tasted. It was not that she was scared of getting caught. It was because she had lost her appetite, and possibly forever. Her grandpa, the only family she had left in this world, was gone, and to this moment Roxanne couldn't get the traumatic image of that day out of her mind.

Here she was, risking another family's life for her own. That day she had run here of all places when her mind was numb and there was no second to spare for idle thoughts. Gabrielle and her parents had taken her in without hesitation.

Yes. Just a few more days and she could get back outside. Then what?

* * *

Nikolaus Herschel ruffled his hair as he made his way down the soldier-packed hall, meeting a few openly disdainful stares here and there. His indifferent expression showed he held no regard for their attitude, but his twitching hand proved otherwise. Business with the military body was always a pain in the neck, especially with this particular General.

Stopping before an opened door, he called, "You wanted to see me, General?"

Konrad looked up from the stack of reports occupying his desk and beckoned for him to come inside.

"Yes. I've called you here regarding the latest news of the Free French Forces."

His voice was as calm and intimidating as Nikolaus had remembered. It was always straight to business and never pleasantries.

"As you might have heard, there have been reports of civilian recruits and anti-German movements around town. It would seem that the rebels have set up a new base in Lyon."

"We're doing the best we can, General. In the past two weeks, the Gestapo has arrested more than 50 suspects."

"And?" came his only reply.

"We're still looking into it." Nikolaus cleared his throat, unwilling to meet his icy stare.

The stoic man said nothing as he patiently dug through stacks of neatly piled-up documents, leaving Nikolaus to endure a good 5 minutes of agonizing silence.

"This," he finally spoke, sliding a piece of paper in front of Nikolaus. "-is a list of key areas suspected to be their new hideouts. I want you to take a small group to investigate these areas under the pretense of a… Jewish search."

"So the Gestapo is to do all the dirty work as usual, correct?" Nikolaus couldn't resist the barb, for he had come to realize the General wasn't a man to mind such things.

"Since we've yet to find any real evidence, involving the army at this stage will only alert the enemies," replied Konrad with an indifferent tone, shifting his gaze back to the contents on his desk. "Report to me immediately if anything turns up. Dismissed."

"Understood." Nikolaus stood up in salute.

"By the way," called the stern voice just as Nikolaus reached the door. "I apologize for my soldier's action concerning the August incident at the Gestapo prison."

"No hard feelings, General." Nikolaus turned around with a wry smile. "From what I've heard, it seems my guards were disobeying the rules, dallying with the prisoner."

He was out of town attending to another business on that day. When he got back, three of his guards were dead and one Jewish prisoner had escaped, though from what his subordinates reported, the Lieutenant insisted that he had pursued and shot the girl, her body falling into the river, irretrievable. This incident came to further prove just how much the army looked down on his organization.

"I wouldn't blame Lieutenant von Fritsch for his action. However, I wish he would have let the Gestapo settle their own problem," Nikolaus paused, "What happened to him? Has he…?"

Konrad simply shook his head. "No, he's alive, but he's being suspended from office… indefinitely."

"That's good to hear. If that is all, I'll take my leave now. Good day, General."

Nikolaus unfolded the list and ran through the names of suspected areas.

Belliveau Publishing House  
Hotel Le Royale  
Verger des Pommes Café

His lips curled into a smile.

* * *

Amidst the rubble and crumbling buildings, a pair of young lovers stood facing each other, just a few yards apart. The girl was visibly fighting hard to keep herself from trembling, her pent-up emotions bubbling on the surface, ready to burst forth at any moment. Sluggishly the man struggled to drag his blood-covered body across the only remaining distance that separated them. When their bodies were only inches away from each other, she finally smiled at him, and tears began to well up on the soldier's hardened face.

As he reached out to cup her face, her eyes narrowed in a strange way. His hand stopped in mid-air. His own eyes widened in recognition as a loud bang deafened his ear and the feel of the piercing bullet engulfed his other senses. He fell down on his knees, peering up at her one last time before his body finally hit the ground. A gun dropped to his side, its owner standing perfectly still. Another smile, this time much more genuine and tragic, drew on her face as she shut her eyes, letting a lone tear creep its way down her cheek. Her lips whispered his name one last time.

"William…"

"Cut!"

At the shout the man on the ground pulled himself up and wiped the dust from his face. "Are we good? I've been shot twice today!" he laughed.

"That's a wrap. Great job, everybody. Alright, let's take five," the director said through his megaphone.

"Great scene back there, Marianne!", "Good job!" The film crew cheered as Marianne walked by.

"Thank you, you too!" she replied heartily at their compliments before settling down on her reserved seat.

The young actress let out a contented sigh. At this rate they would finish the film in time for the light festival in December. This movie was her first project after the whole German ordeal had died down. In the end, her dear friend Roxanne was safe and that was more than Marianne could wish for.

Hearing the footsteps closing behind, she turned around.

"Can I borrow a minute of the great star?" spoke her new company, a man looking in mid-thirties.

"Arthur! Stop teasing me!"

"I'm just speaking the truth."

Arthur was Marianne's fellow actor and another mentor of hers. He was the one who had discovered her talent and guided her in her acting career. More importantly, he was like a second father to her, albeit being much younger than her biological one.

"So, I hear they'll be playing Les Misérables tonight down at the theater?" Marianne spoke softly, just loud enough for the two of them.

Their conversation was quickly interrupted by the noises coming from behind, a woman's voice atop of them.

"You clumsy, dim-witted man! You've ruined my costume!" cried a shrill female voice.

A woman of striking beauty, with fiery red hair and a voluptuous figure, was scolding one of the crew member. The poor man was bowing frantically, trying to apologize to no avail. She tossed the curly waves of crimson over her shoulder, her sharp eyes scrutinizing as if they were about to devour the man whole.

Rising her chin up in a proud gesture, she spoke to the man, but loudly enough for everyone on set to hear, "What do you mean you were distracted by the lovers' scene? What kind of excuse is that?" she slashed out mercilessly, but not without class-the kind of spiteful grace. "It wasn't even that good," she sneered, briefly glancing over at Marianne.

"Don't mind her. You did a wonderful job," spoke Arthur, shaking Marianne attention off the unpleasant scene.

This was not a rare occurrence on set. Whenever the director was not around, Beatrice de Polignac would throw all kinds of tantrum, and even if he was, it wouldn't matter much. She was a nationally renowned actress, and what was more, her father was the head of the new Vichy puppet government.

"I think she's right," Marianne mumbled, her gaze dropping. In truth she had not been completely satisfied with her own performance. It felt as though there were certain parts of this character she had yet to grasp.

"Anyway," Arthur cleared his throat, closing the gap between them. "Yes, Les Misérables will be shown tonight at eight. I'll be expecting you then. Bye for now." Swiftly he handed her a folded piece of paper.

Marianne gripped the paper inside her palm and headed for her room before opening it up.

_I think they might be onto us. Be careful when you arrive._

* * *

It was past noon, and the customers of the Verger des Pommes were enjoying their meals outside in the sun. Gabrielle Dupont, the lovely 21-year-old chef, was as usual busy tending to her customers when a waiter rushed over to her, his face pale with unconcealed fear.

"Gabrielle! The Gestapo is here!"

The last time Gabrielle had felt this horrified was when Roxanne and her family were forcefully taken away in front of her. It was only a few months ago, and the memories were still fresh. She couldn't help but tremble at the thought of history repeating itself. Naturally her family had been preparing for this dreadful moment the day they decided to shelter a fugitive of the state. Even so, it was impossible not to be startled at the name of the notorious squad.

There was only but one thing to do at this point, and it did not allow time for panicking.

"Quickly, Enrique, go tell my mother and Roxanne. Tell them to proceed as planned."

With that she bolted for the entrance where a group of Gestapo soldiers were standing guard. She was a little taken aback that they had not simply burst inside the Café. There were four of them, three of whom were armed with heavy guns and the grimmest facial expressions.

One man clearly stood out from the rest, the one without a murdering weapon in his arms, with unusually long hair for a man and a dark auburn color. He looked to be their leader, judging from the way he was holding his hands behind his back, a gesture of superior authority. He was also very tall, one of a few whom she had met that surpassed her height.

She forced a smile and approached him.

"For what do I owe the pleasure, officers? Are you here for a drink? Or perhaps a taste of our famous apple tarts?"

The leader didn't seem to be paying attention to her, for his eyes were still fixed on the sign of the cafe, one that had been meticulously decorated with flame-colored foliage.

Verger des Pommes. _The Apple Orchard_

When he finally turned his attention to her, his face was donning a most perplexing smile.

"We're searching for a missing prisoner around this area. Do you mind if we have a look around?" His tone was so friendly it sounded as if they were playing hide-and-seek and enlisting her help in spotting the missing friend.

"Oh no, not at all. By all means, officers." She pushed open the front gate and duly stepped aside.

As the death squad stepped through the gate, Gabrielle could feel not only her nervous breath that had been temporarily cut short but also her customers' appetite. Her hands began to tremble helplessly. Had she bought Roxanne enough time?

Just when Gabrielle was readying herself for the answer, the Gestapo leader stopped, turned around and proceeded to say the last thing anyone present there would expect him to say.

"It's a little past lunch time, isn't it? I'm quite hungry."

Gabrielle had to check twice to make sure she hadn't misheard. He was indeed staring right at her, with an expectant look obviously beckoning for a reply.

"Ah, yes," she hurried to his side. "How absent-minded of me to have forgotten to offer you a table. Should I set one aside right now?"

"One by the window would be lovely. Thank you."

"Alright, I'll have it ready when you are finished with the search."

_That is, if you don't uncover something of interest, _she rued mentally.

"No need. We'll be taking that table right now."

Gabrielle couldn't refrain her eyes from widening at his sudden reply, and neither did his fellow officers.

"But Captain! What about our orders?" One of them shouted.

"Well then, _Private_, you are welcomed to stand guard at the front gate." Without giving the befuddled man another chance to voice his opinion, he continued, this time raising his voice. "That wasn't a suggestion."

Gabrielle watched, in her own befuddlement, as the unwilling man dragged his feet to the gate, sending off a murderous glare to any customer unfortunate enough to be in his way.

Without looking at the other men, he spoke, a threatening tone, "What about you guys? Would you like to join me, or him?"

"You, Captain," they answered simultaneously.

With that he turned back to Gabrielle. "I'm sorry about that. Now, why don't you take us to our table?"

She wanted to return his smile but simply couldn't find the will to lift up the corners of her mouth. Picking up a menu from the nearby table, she gestured for them to follow.

"Yes, right this way, Captain...?"

"Herschel. Nikolaus Herschel."

* * *

At Nikolaus' request, they were seated by the window overlooking the apple orchard currently in season. It was quite a lovely sight to behold. Apples in vibrant red colors, many were piled up in barrels while some were simply lying on the grassy ground, glimmered under the autumn afternoon sun. Green leaves were already half-burnished with fall hues. He could almost feel them rustle in the gentle breeze. Nikolaus pondered at the sensation of sitting under that orchard tree on an autumn day such as this one, preferably with the right person by his side.

"May I take your order?" asked the lovely waitress, calling his attention back to reality.

"I don't know. Why don't you pick something for me?" he said, leaning back against his seat.

"Then may I recommend a popular order of ours, the Gabrielle's special?" There was a little nervousness in her voice, though, this was only a normal occurrence in the course of his profession.

"Gabrielle?" he asked.

"That's my name. I'm the chef here."

"It's a beautiful name, Gabrielle." He could tell she was struggling to hide the fluster. For a lady of her physique, she fell victim to compliments almost too easily. But for some reason he had always found this feature of the fairer sex to be quite endearing.

"Thank you. I'll be back with your orders in a moment." She gave them a polite smile and rushed back to the kitchen.

He couldn't help but chuckle after the frenetic girl who looked to be running for her life. With her soon out of sight, he directed his attention back to the Café, this time examining it more carefully.

It must have been managed by a woman. There were signs of floral decorations almost everywhere he looked. Vases of different kinds of flowers, mostly pink roses, were placed around the shop, all looking so fresh. The way in was also heavily decorated with roses, as he recalled. It was too flowery to be a rebels' hideout, which meant it could be just the perfect place.

Suddenly his eyes stopped wandering as they fixed on a particular object on the wall, and almost uncontrollably he burst out laughing.

"Captain, if I may ask, what's so funny?" inquired one of his officer.

"Nothing you can understand." Nikolaus shook his head.

His fellow officers seemed to be baffled as they studied the object that had got their leader in hysteria.

It was a picture of a young girl holding the French flag.

**End of Chapter 5**

* * *

**A/N: **Arthur = Artemis, Beatrice = Beryl in case you missed them.

So the only one left who has yet to appear is Ami. What are you expecting of her? ;)

**H/N:**  
The Free French Forces: the French government-in-exile and its military forces led by Charles de Gaulle that continued to fight against Germany after the fall of France. It was set up in June 1940, organizing and supporting the Resistance in occupied France.


	6. The Autumn's Orchard

**Chapter 6 – The Autumn's Orchard  
**

Gabriel paced back and forth in front of the plates on her kitchen counter, all finished and ready to go. She could not remember the last time it had taken her this long to prepare her own signature dish. She could have done it with her eyes closed. Such was the nerve-wrecking toll of having a death squad waiting in your house when you were harboring their escaped prisoner.

Her family had long planned for the day when this scenario would come into play. There was no way to sneak Roxanne out of the restaurant since there was no back entrance and a Gestapo was guarding the front door. That left only one thing option.

Gabrielle did not possess Marianne's flexibility or Roxanne's nerve of steel, but for all their sake, she had dared risk challenging the devil.

When finally the kitchen door opened and in rushed her mother, looking every bit as pale as herself, she straightened her form, ready for the battle.

"Everything's ready," muttered her mother.

"Did you remember to clear out the storage room?"

Her mother nodded.

Allowing herself another short moment of self-encouragement, Gabrielle picked up the food tray and turned to her mother one last time before walking out to face their impending terror.

"All right. Mom, I need you to remain calm no matter what happens. Leave everything else to me."

The Gestapo leader welcomed her back with his genteel smile, going so far as to stand up to help with the plates. The real devil often hid behind the most amiable mask. Was this the case with this gentleman? She could not help but wonder. His officers certainly did not share the same manner, exhibiting the familiar cold, emotionless visage that befitted their notoriety.

"This dish is a specialty of our region."

She watched nervously as they got started on their meals. Even his eating manner was different from his fellow officers. This dish was popular among her German customers, but apparently not so to the Gestapo Captain.

"Is the food not to your liking?" Her pride as a chef would be slightly wounded, even in these circumstances.

"Of course not. It's delicious. Thank you." Nikolaus dropped his fork and peered up at her. "And you don't have to wait here for us. Go tend to your other customers."

"We're near closing hours, there aren't many customers left. This is the least I could do for interrupting your duty."

"It's quite all right, Gabrielle." He called her by her first name with such ease, as if they had known each other for a long time. "We'll make it quick and be on our way. As far as I'm concerned, this is just procedure." He paused briefly, bringing another slice of potato to his mouth. "But necessary, nevertheless."

She was sure he had broken up his speech on purpose in order to torture her.

He swallowed and slowly licked off the sauce from his fingers. "Though I'm sure you have nothing to hide, right, Gabrielle?" His lips arched into a smile.

Her fingernails dug into the back of the tray she was holding so dearly against her chest. Did he really mean that, or had he figured out something? Composing herself, she returned his statement with a wry smile.

Nikolaus said nothing more after that, continuing to finish the rest of his meal.

When the last complimentary glasses had been cleared from their table, the Gestapo officers stood up with their guns and without a word dispersed in different directions of the house, all except for Nikolaus who remained in the same spot, gazing out the window.

Gabrielle stood next to him, silently following his gaze out to her orchard where her mother was working hard on the last apple trees. The apple barrels were filled up so full they looked almost like a pool of blood from afar. The guards had yet to search their orchard.

It was time to cast the deciding dice.

"Do you want to have a look outside?" It sounded more like an invitation than a plead for innocence.

"I'd love to." He nodded.

A gentle breeze greeted them as they stepped into the orchard. For Gabrielle this would always be her favorite place in the entire world, even when she had spent almost all of her life here. The autumnal zephyr. The soothing sensation. The plentiful harvest. It was the sight to which she had waken up since she was a kid and the one she hoped to go to sleep to when she grew old.

For unknown reason, she briefly wondered if such a scenery could bring out any emotion at all from her unwanted company, but she quickly shook herself out of the thought, having realized what an unthinkable notion that was. She sneaked a peek at his face nevertheless. There was no expression there, neither a smile nor a frown.

"The orchard and the cafe belong to your family?" he finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

Something told her he already had all information there was to know about her family, including this one.

"Yes." She clutched the tray closer to her chest, ready for the interrogation.

"The flowers are very nice. Did you grow them?"

Gabrielle blinked at his question. Was he making friendly conversation with her?

"My mother helps out. I couldn't manage all of this on my own." Though it was true that she did most of the work. If there was anything Gabrielle loved and excelled at more than cooking, it was gardening.

Apples weren't the only plant in her garden. There was a myriad of flora, enchanting the garden with an even more refreshing aura, though many of them had begun to succumb to the autumnal grasp.

"This is lovely. I've always wanted something like this, a garden of my own."

"You?" Gabrielle blamed her momentary imprudence on the irony of his words and his current profession.

"Life isn't always how we want it to be, is it?"

She didn't know if it was because of the winds or not but his voice somehow sounded much softer.

For a while they walked in silence.

But as they approached the apple tree her mother was picking, Gabrielle's face fell to a paler color. Casually, he strolled towards her mother's ladder. Gabrielle was not far behind, her heart racing faster with each step. She should say something. Distract him. Get his attention towards anything but-

"What a plentiful harvest. Look at all these apples." He commented, picking an apple from the fullest barrel and casually tossing it up. "This barrel alone could feed my whole division for a month."

Gabrielle could almost feel her mother's body froze at his words. Silently swallowing her own fear, she quickly mustered up a smile. "If you'd like, we could send over some barrels to your place."

Nikolaus put the apple back on the barrel. His eyes narrowed attentively at the red fruits. For what felt like an eternity, he did not say anything, almost as if he was enjoying how much the suspense was torturing her.

"Don't trouble yourself…" His voice suddenly shifted to a cold and serious tone. "Are you all finished in there?" he shouted.

The door swung open and the Gestapo squad stepped outside, each holding a heavy gun in his arms.

"They're all clear. We'll just need to search this garden," said one of the Gestapo.

At the moment Gabrielle felt all hopes and dreams vanish from the world, her beautiful orchard turning into an execution ground. She dropped her gaze to the ground, defeated.

How did she ever think this would work? The most obvious place was also the safest place. That trick would not work on the infamous hunting machine of Europe. She bit back her quivering lips and dreadfully waited for what came next.

"There is no need. I've already checked it."

Her head shot up at the sound of his voice, and as if he had been expecting just that, their eyes immediately met. She was sure he could read all the turbulent emotions that were running through her face.

Yet, again he only smiled. That enigmatic smile.

"I wouldn't want to take away your hard-earned harvest." His voice had returned to a friendly tone. "Besides, I'm sure my men don't want to have apple for dessert every single day."

She nodded instinctively.

Finally dropping his gaze from her, he turned to his subordinates. "It looks like our job here is done."

Gabrielle could only stare after him, with no words presently sensible enough on her mind to make up a speech. She turned to her mother, hoping to find some explanation or just reassurance, only to find the elderly woman in the same state. Scared and confused.

"Thank you for your hospitality and cooperation. Good day to you, ladies."

Nikolaus signaled for his group to move out before following behind them, only to stop at the door at the last second.

"I really like your cooking, Gabrielle. You have a talent there. Don't waste it on… other frivolous matters." He said without glancing back at her. "I'll be coming back soon for another special of yours."

The minute the door closed behind him and the black uniforms were all out of sight, Gabrielle sunk to her knees, allowing her body to finally have its overdue tremble.

Her mother ran to the front door, making sure they really were leaving before returning to help Gabrielle up. Her daughter was really not that bold as she might look.

"They're gone. You can come out now, Roxanne," called her mother.

Apples burst from the barrel and out emerged Roxanne, coughing heavily for air. Even if the Gestapo hadn't discovered her, any moment longer buried under there and she might as well have suffocated to death.

Roxanne did not know what exactly had happened up here, but clearly it was nothing short of God's miracle. Getting out of the fruit coffin, she sank to her knees and held her hands in a prayer.

If it had been Marianne's mother instead of hers standing there, Gabrielle was sure the woman would have blasted Roxanne for being an ungrateful brat. But of course, that would never happen as Mrs. Lavigne would never let Roxanne, a now convicted Jewish, to step one foot inside her house, let alone hide her from the wrath of the German death squad. Luckily for Roxanne, Gabrielle's family was more understanding towards her devout religiousness.

Not that Gabrielle really had the mind to judge Roxanne's attitude, she was still troubled over the Gestapo leader's final words. Obviously he knew something. Was it about Roxanne? But if it was, why didn't he do anything? If not, what did he really mean?

One thing was for sure. Something definitely seemed off about that man, but she could not yet figure out what it was.

* * *

**Lyon, October 1940**

"You have to try this scotch. It's vintage quality."

Zachary held up the bottle and removed its cap, but before he could pour the liquid down the empty glass, a hand had reached down to cover it up.

"You know I don't drink." Konrad picked up his glass and walked to the kitchen counter.

"Just a few sips won't hurt. Besides, it's our day-off." It didn't take more than five seconds for Zachary to realize no amount of pleading would be enough to persuade him. To think he had invited this man over for a housewarming celebration. "Fine. Do you want me to get you tea?" he huffed.

Konrad only shook his head.

Zachary recalled the man had, on countless occasions, lectured him that alcohol was a destructive tool, one that only served to poison the human's senses.

"How's Johan doing?" asked Konrad, returning with a glass of water.

It had been two months since the Lieutenant was suspended from office, and without pay. As much as Zachary sympathized with his friend's heroic action, the latter did step far out of line. More importantly, had he not imposed a fitting punishment on Johan, the young Lieutenant could face much worse once words reached the top of the Gestapo hierarchy whose leader was the right-hand man of the very person controlling all of Germany and parts of continental Europe.

"If you're asking if he's behaving, believe me, he is," Zachary stoutly vouched for his friend. From what he heard recently, Johan had been visiting Church, and that was the ultimate form of penitence there was for a man whose ideal breakfast was two bottles of Paulaner.

"Good. If he conducts himself in the proper manner, comes new year perhaps I could get him back to duty."

One thing was certain, he would not be resuming his old post where he got to sit around all day dealing with trivial paperwork. Zachary could figure that much.

"What do you say we pick him up later and the three of us go grab something to eat? My treat."

Zachary had to check twice to make sure he had heard his friend correctly. "In that case how could I turn down the mighty General?" His face bloomed with a joyful glow. The three of them had not hung out since Johan's incidence, and given the recent troubles with the French Resistance movements.

"Still no lead on those rebels' hideout?" he asked. For months they had been chasing shadows and trails of false information.

But before Konrad could answer, a voice had interrupted.

"You still haven't located their base?"

Zachary's face fell as he turned around to the uninvited visitor.

The man was not much older than Konrad, but he had managed to acquire a much more ruthless reputation for himself. If Konrad was only hardened by the barbarism of wars, this man was the barbarian king himself, even though his appearance might say the exact opposite. He was not a brute, no imposing features or well-built muscles, but any captured enemy who looked upon him would know not to hope for a swift and merciful death. The only thing he and Konrad had closest in common was perhaps their rare silvery hair.

He was Dominic von Kluge, General of the 5th Panzer Division and the eldest son of one of the most respected Field Marshal in the army.

"We are still investigating," Konrad replied duly.

"The rebels are probably smuggling weapons right under your nose as we speak." Dominic sneered, casually taking a seat next to them.

"We've already closed in on their possible locations. We'll catch them soon enough," answered Konrad.

"Soon enough is not soon enough." Dominic opened the bottle of Scotch on the table and poured himself a glass. "I would gladly take charge of this operation had I not already been assigned to Normandy."

'_Why don't you just go there already and leave us to our job?'_ Zachary griped mentally, secretly shooting the man scornful glares. How he wished he could say this out loud to his face. Unfortunately, there were so many reasons as to why he never could.

"How are the fortifications for the Atlantic Wall coming?" Konrad asked.

"Everything is still on paper. Construction won't be commencing for at least another year."

'_Hah! And you have the nerve to criticize us!' _Zachary tried hard to refrain himself from that "Tsk".

"Of course. Most of our forces are gradually being transferred to the East," Konrad commented.

It was part of a big, very big plan, the one of utmost confidentiality that currently only the highest commanders in the German army would know of.

"Yes. And the Brits won't be invading the western coast any time soon. Or ever. Depending on whether or not they can survive the Blitz." Dominic sneered, his cold eyes flaring up with excitement at such thought. "There's no need to rush with the Atlantic Wall. The important thing right now is to put an end to those rebellion rats as soon as possible." He took another gulp and turned his attention to Zachary.

"You've been quiet, Zach. You didn't even say hello to me."

"Hi, Dominic." Zachary forced his lips into a smile, refilling his glass. "When did you arrive in Lyon?" Regrettably, he had to leave the second half unsaid, _And when will you be leaving?_

"Just this morning." He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes scouting the interior of Zachary's home. "I heard your new house was done being renovated so I decided to drop by."

"That's too bad. Konrad and I were just leaving. We have this appointment." He kicked Konrad's foot under the table, signaling for his friend to cooperate. He was sure Konrad did not enjoy Dominic's company either.

"Is that so? My father and sister are also on their way over here. It'd be a pity if they miss you." Dominic gently shook his glass, eyeing the liquid movement.

Konrad looked over to his friend who, surprisingly, did not looked too excited at the news of his fiancée coming over. Perhaps it was the accompanying Field Marshal who was distressing the young Major. Konrad presumed as much, given the fact that Zachary and his future wife had not seen each other in months since they left Paris.

"We can always catch up on that appointment another time. I'm sure you're more anxious to see Ameline again." Konrad stood up and patted him on the shoulder.

"Yeah…" Zachary slowly nodded, putting down his glass.

"Send my best regards to the Field Marshal. Zach, Dominic." He nodded goodbye to the two men and headed for the door.

* * *

The von Kluge was a powerful family from Berlin, their prestigious lineage tracing back to the military gentry of Prussia. Their current patriarch was Heinz von Kluge and Zachary's future father-in-law. The old Field Marshal had many children but most talented among them were Dominic, his eldest son and successor, and Ameline, his only daughter.

Zachary watched from his window as the car drove into his front yard and eventually came to a haul. His butler rushed to open the car door and out stepped a pair of shaky legs, poised by a walking stick. The Field Marshal was a veteran from the last war and still a formidable commander in previous battles against France, having sustained many war injuries, one of which had left an impairment on his leg.

The Marshal emerged from his car, rejected the butler's offered hand for assistance, and walked up to the front door. A series of coughing soon followed from the other side of the car.

"Quickly, fetch her medicine from the trunk." The Marshal commanded.

"I'm all right, father." A slender hand reached out from the car window and shook at the butler. Stifling her coughs, Ameline von Kluge stepped out from the car and followed after her father into the house. Her graceful posture spoke of a true noble born-and-raised.

As she entered the house and removed her hat and coat, her full appearance was revealed to the expectant servants, who had been all too eager to meet at last the woman who was to be their mistress. However, they, much like anyone else who met Ameline for the first time, were struck with a momentary shock as they looked at the peculiar feature that tarnished half of the elegance that was her face.

On the left side of her face marked a big, hideous black stain that stretched from her ear down to her chin. Ameline, however, had no desire to cover it up. She never let her hair down to hide away the tragic birthmark, like most would do. Au contraire, she had always kept her hair short and neatly tucked behind her ears. She would wear it proudly, for it was also one of the many wounds wars had inflicted on her father.

Perhaps it was one of the many reasons why the Field Marshal had always doted on her over many other of his sons. Whenever he looked at her, he would remember the heavy price he, as well as many of the combatants of the previous war, had paid for employing the deadly chemical weapons. He had survived the gas attack, but it continued to haunt him for many more years after.

It was a good thing such conduct was now internationally prohibited and his sons would not suffer the same fate on their battlefields. But, war was always war. He did not know if it would come the day when he had to attend the funeral of any of his own sons. The Marshal loved his family, and most of all his daughter, whom he had decided to entrust to her fiancé for the time to come.

In this little town, she would be safe from the big storm that was brewing over the sky of Germany.

**End of Chapter 6**

* * *

Dominic is Demando (or Diamond), if you are wondering.

**Historical notes:**

Atlantic Wall: a system of coastal fortifications built by Germany along the western coast of France and other European countries to defend against anticipated Allied invasions. Lyon is about 400 miles away from the Normandy coast.

The Blitz: a series of aerial bombing of the United Kingdom by Germany in 1940-1941. During this time of the story, the UK was alone in fighting Germany. All her allies either surrendered or had not entered the war.

In World War I, chemical weapons were widely used by both the Allies and Central Powers, resulting over 90,000 deaths and leaving many more in unusual medical conditions. The use of chemical weapons was internationally prohibited after the Geneva Protocol in 1925.

Paulaner: a brand of German beer brewed in Munich.

_If you remember WWII history, you know what happened in 1941 and what I was hinting at. XD_


	7. All the King's horses

**Chapter 7 – All the King's horses**

**November 1940**

Twelve… thirteen… fourteen…

That was the last of them. She counted. The lone tree now stood bare of all its raiment in the wake of winter, its last leaves lying on the ground, lifeless, rotting. She squatted down and picked up the palest one. The autumnal brownish hue had faded away, devoured by the ghostly white. Withered and dry, it crumbled to crusts within one squeeze. So easy. So pathetic. Opening up her palm, she let them fall and join the rest of the pitiful leaves piled up waiting to be burned.

Another winter had come.

Smiling goodbye to the leaving churchgoers, Roxanne hurriedly swept the scattered leaves into place. The sun would be setting soon and there were other chores to be finished. She put a match to the leaf pile and watched as it blazed up before her eyes.

"Burning leaves can be harmful to your health, you know?" said a teasing voice.

Alarmed at the familiar voice, Roxanne immediately turned around, her hands clutching tightly onto her matchbox. Quick to hide her shock, she looked away from the grinning man sitting so comfortably on the bench.

"Why is that?" she spoke softly, her eyes fixing upon the bright flame.

His left cheek resting against his hand, Johan watched the girl before him with an intense focus, if just to intentionally make her feel more uncomfortable. This peculiar girl. She might look like his sister but their personalities were poles apart. Surely there were more pressing matters she should be asking?

"Aren't you at least a little curious how I found you?"

Roxanne picked up her broom and turned to walk back to the chapel. "All right, how did you find me?" she asked, not looking back at him.

Giving in to the amusement, he got up and followed her, one hand in his pocket and another stifling back his chuckle. "If I can let you go, I can find you." Johan was never trained in the art of verbal jousting as his friend Zachery but he had his own way around words that got to people. More specifically, they got to people's nerves.

Resisting the urge to tell him that that didn't really answer anything, Roxanne continued. "Just you?"

Still no sign of nervousness. A little hesitation would have been nice, he thought. "You're scared?"

"That depends." She would be lying if she said otherwise. Of course she was scared, but not of death. She was scared of them tracing her ties back to Gabrielle's family. She was scared of them harassing everyone in this church for harboring her.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

Roxanne paused briefly and turned to his face. "No." With that she continued walking. Simple logic. If he wanted to arrest or kill her, he would have done so by now. She hadn't forgotten the fact that he had helped her escaped, but people changed their minds all the time. Germany, especially, was not well-known for keeping its promises to its allies.

Johan smiled at her reply. He had expected just that. "Well, you have no reason to be. Nobody else knows."

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked.

"What, can't I visit the church?" he grinned. At first he was only curious to see how she was doing, then it became a regular routine of his unemployment life. For a few weeks now he had been going to this church, just to stop at the gate and watch her from the café across the street. It was not as though he was scared of coming up to talk to her, ask her how she was holding up, tell her to be a little more discreet. He wasn't torn by guilt or something like that. No, he was not. He would never be held back by such emotional constraint. Not anymore. Perhaps it was just more fun that way.

Today was different.

"You?" Roxanne couldn't help but spare him a sneer.

"What's wrong with me?"

"People like you…" She stared irritably into his eyes as she tried to find the words. But the humor present there told her this was pointless. "Just forget it." She turned away and hastened her walk.

"People like me? Speak for yourself. What's a Jewish girl doing in a Catholic Church?" He felt the realization dawn on him the moment the words left his mouth. But he didn't have enough time to mend the offense.

"That's because you Germans bombed all of our synagogues!" she turned around and slashed out at him, her violet eyes burning with fury. She knew it was wrong to be here, yet there was nowhere else to turn to. This was the only place people like her could hide.

"I apologize. That was a very stupid and hurtful thing to say," he said solemnly.

She did nothing to acknowledge his apology. Their walk became much quieter.

Johan had wanted to turn around and go home at that point, but as they walked past the central yard, a certain object captured his attention.

"Say, how come I've never seen anyone ring that giant bell over there?"

Roxanne stopped to look at the bell towards which he was pointing. There in the middle of the church yard sat the giant bell as old as the town itself. When rung, its toll could be heard several miles away.

"It is only played on the day of a wedding, or a funeral." In light of the recent events, the church had temporarily closed such services. They didn't want to attract unwanted attention.

"Hah, they're pretty much the same thing," he chuckled.

Again she didn't reply to his remark. As they reached the main chapel, Roxanne stopped in front of the doors, her back to him. "You want to go in and pray? We're closing soon."

"I don't believe in God," he replied. If there were such thing as a God who listened to and answered your prayers, he wouldn't be standing here now.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she turned to face him. "Then what are you doing here?"

Staring down at her visibly annoyed face, he smiled. "I'll come again tomorrow."

Waving her goodbye, he walked back to the front gate, leaving behind the vexed girl.

* * *

Marianne tapped four times on the door, each knock heavier than the last. "It's me," she said softly. Still, the basement was quiet enough for her voice.

The door clicked from the inside and a pair of onyx eyes appeared from behind the small crack. Upon settling on her features, the look on them softened. Another click came and swiftly Marianne disappeared behind the door.

"Sorry I'm late. Got held up at the studio." Marianne hurried out of her coat and habitually swung it on the rack as she waltzed into the room. "You wouldn't believe the tantrum Beatrice was throwing at poor Leopold. It was his first kiss scene onscreen!" She stopped to grab a glass from the cupboard before turning to the people sitting at the table. "He's only twelve months old, for God's sake." She had no idea how the casting director saw that woman fit as a mother figure.

"Well, evening to you too, hun." Her brunette childhood friend greeted her with a soft chuckle as she sat down.

Aside from Gabrielle and her two mentors, the other members did not exactly have a pleased expression on their face. One would think they would be more understanding given they were all working in the same industry and well-versed in Beatrice's infamous overtime schedule.

"So, who's gonna get me up to speed?" She glanced around the table and shot a teasing wink towards the man sitting opposite, whose hand was locked with that of the lovely woman next to him. "Arthur? Laure?"

"We haven't discussed much, actually," Arthur replied. "We figured we might as well wait for you since this time most of the _arrangements_ involve you."

"Oh?" Her trained façade did not show if she was pleasantly surprised or otherwise. "All right. I'm here now."

"First order of business," he continued. "Our base will be moved again tomorrow. This theater's no long safe. Some Gestapo hounds had been spotted sniffing around the area. Problem is we haven't exactly found a new location yet."

"We can't go back to my house, right? Not after the incident last month," her friend spoke up.

"I thought you said they were only searching for Roxie?" asked Marianne.

"And to think we could have helped them shot two birds with one stone!" she exclaimed sarcastically, though the event of that day was still quite fresh in her memory.

"No, Gabrielle, we can't. Until the new base is settled, we won't be meeting for the time being." He shot a quick glance around the table. "Now, about the next _shipment_, it will arrive in the same fashion as last time. Only this time we're doubling the goods. So, Marianne…" He turned to her. "Are you ready for your next role?"

"Another war movie?" she replied half-heartedly.

"Yes. Sadly, normal movies don't usually involve that many guns and grenades," he chuckled.

Yes, they were smuggling weapons into the city as movie props. And yes, half of her studio staff were part of the French Resistance. So for two months now, blood had been her daily makeup, not that she would have complained had the films not been so pro-German. As it turned out, military occupation came hand in hand with media propaganda control and censorship. She was upset over the news then, and almost gave up on acting. Arthur was the one who talked her through it. It was the same when she first started acting. Even if the plot was horrendous, it was an actor's duty to carry through with his character, he had convinced her.

"When does filming begin?" Marianne asked.

"After the Light Festival. Because," he stressed. "We're not shipping from the French Resistance this time. Troubles are brewing down South."

"But who else would supply weapons for us?" she asked.

"Our old ally from the North," he smiled. "But since this is our first time working together, we need to establish contact first. Now, this is where _you_ come in." His eyes returned to Marianne. "At the Festival, we'll be showing the last movie and make the announcement for the next one. There, you will meet with their contact. They should inform you of details of the next shipment."

"How will I know it's him, or her? British accent?" she said, faking said accent.

"I don't know who or where exactly that person will be. But, they gave us a code."

"British and their codes," she said irritably, leaning her head on Gabrielle's shoulder, worn-out. _'Or maybe they're testing us.' _she thought. "What's the code?"

"All the King's horses."

* * *

She watched from the cold windows of her bedroom, a book half-opened in her hand, as three men were shouting down in the courtyard. Only one of them was actually doing the shouting, to be correct. The other two rarely got a word in. Though his voice was loud, his articulation was very poor, and thus she could not make out what they were talking about. The tallest among them was the quietest. She noticed that because he was blocking her view of the one standing on his left, who she assumed was getting ready to return the words of the opposite man once he was done shouting.

Her father had said a military officer must always be on alert, even in friendly territory. So when the pair of silver eyes turned abruptly towards her windows, Ameline merely nodded at him and spared him a brief, courteous smile. She only hoped he wouldn't be able to see the pinkish tinge that must have been donning her cheeks. But then again, she had known this man long enough to know that he would not misread such a thing.

She wondered if he could sense the disappointment bubbling inside her when the one she'd hope would turn around instead did not. She turned away from the windows and walked back to her desk, before said person would follow his gaze and really looked up.

Setting down her book, Ameline picked up the stack of letters waiting on her desk since this morning. One was from her mother, as part of her weekly letters. Two were from her friends in Berlin. And the last one, coated in an azure envelope, was an invitation from a new friend.

_Dear Frau Ameline von Kluge,_

_It is my honor to invite you and your family to the opening ceremony of Lyon's traditional Festival of Lights, our Fête des Lumières. It will be held on the evening of December 5th at the city square. _

_With this being your first time in France, I feel I should inform you that post-ceremony Festival activities will continue until December 8th. I hope you will find them to your delight and look forward to seeing you at the Festival._

_Yours truly,_

_Mayor Joffre._

Ameline folded the letter back into the envelop and returned to her book. She might have an idea as to what Johan was arguing with the other two.

**End of Chapter 7.**

* * *

**A/N: **

"All the King's horses" is from the rhyme "Humpty Dumpty". You know?

_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,_  
_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall._  
_All the king's horses and all the king's men_  
_Couldn't put Humpty together again._


	8. Interlude - Nightmares

_Sorry that it took a year, but I'm finally back to finish my stories._

* * *

**Interlude – Nightmares**

**Johan**

His nightmares would not stop coming ever since that night.

They always followed the same routine. First came the singing. Next came the laughter. Then the bells. And finally, the screams. Sometimes he woke when the bells started chiming. Other times it was the screams that laid him awake.

Eventually he became terrified of the night. So he found himself all kinds of distraction to keep his mind conscious until it wore itself out and collapsed into the blissful abyss of nothingness.

At first he simply tried staying awake out of sheer willpower, waiting on the front porch until the first sunrays came down. Even if he failed and fell asleep half-way through, he would be too tired for dreams. Later he discovered that alcohol was a much more effective solution. That, however, soon became unfeasible after he enlisted in the army.

It was no matter. He found another distraction, and a much better one at that. War.

The easy fear of not knowing if one could live to see the next sunrise kept him up at night. If not that, the thunderous shelling and constant DEFCON alerts did the job just fine. But most importantly, the screams and cries surrounded him on the battlefields made the old ones from his nightmare seem so insignificant. He didn't notice when they had faded away.

But he knew exactly when they came back. It was the night after he saw her for the first time.

It would be much later when he finally learned that running away was never the answer.

**Nikolaus**

He rarely had nightmares and none he could recall from his childhood days.

Every night his mother would tuck him into bed and sing to him her favorite rhyme, when his father was overseas fighting in yet another man's war. He was too young then to notice the sadness in his mother's eyes or the slight choke in her voice whenever he proudly proclaimed that he would grow up to be a brave soldier just like his father.

Looking back, he felt himself unworthy of all the sweet dreams her lullabies had brought.

Even after he came of age and went through life, he never experienced many nightmares. Perhaps he did but merely forgot after waking up. He wondered how he was so often blessed with pleasant dreams.

He - who brought nightmares to others.

**Zachary**

His nightmares were always strange and often too childish, or so Konrad used to tell him.

One time he was lost in a maze trapped inside an hourglass. Another time he found himself on a carousel horse chasing after someone. When he was younger, he used to tell his most trusted friend all about each and every one of these strange dreams, even though Konrad would just call him childish and let out a little snort every time.

He regretted not realizing sooner what a child he had been. He really was behind Konrad in everything, including growing up, something he could not bring himself to blame on their age difference.

Soon he stopped talking to Konrad about his silly nightmares, and his friend never bothered to ask about them again. He consoled himself that it was because they were both busy preparing for the Military Academy.

Now all his nightmares had become too realistic. Yet he had no desire to tell anyone, including his best friend, for he feared they would come true.

**Konrad**

He never cared about things such as nightmares.

He did not understand why some people paid them so much attention. His friend Zachary had a theory once, about how the universe was trying to give us a warning through bad dreams. He had laughed then. How could such random and senseless fantasies be of any indication or significance?

To him, reality was a nightmare enough.

That was until she started plaguing his dreams.

**End of Interlude.**

* * *

**A/N: **Just a little backstory (and foreshadowing) for the guys.

I'll be posting Chapter 8 soon. Promise!


	9. The Blooming Rose

**A/N:** I've recently edited the previous chapters (no major changes that affect the story, though, just adding a few bits of dialogues here and there). A thank you to Darkitty04 for her help!

* * *

**Chapter 8 – The Blooming Rose**

**_Nuremberg, December 1945_**

_"Officer, do you pledge guilty to these crimes that are alleged against you?"_

_The soldier looked up from his stand, eyes void of emotions._

_"Officer, do you pledge guilty?" repeated the judge._

_"Yes." _

* * *

**Lyon, December 1940 **

Tonight was the first time Ameline had seen the streets of Lyon so full of life. It was the kind of splendor she had always envisioned of France from many of Victor Hugo's poems and stories. It seemed the festive spirit had managed to bring the zest out of the town dwellers who, for months, had been living in fear and contempt. Candles were lit from every house's windows, and flares were ignited to illuminate monuments around town, lighting up the usually bleak boulevards.

She felt glad to have rejected the Mayor's offer to tour the town in his car. The town square, the Place des Terreaux, was too magnificent a sight to be passed by in mere minutes. Surely the square could not compare to Berlin's own Alexanderplatz, neither in size nor vigor, but Ameline found herself simply drawn to it. Situated right in the heart of Lyon and bordered from all sides by illuminated buildings of magnificent Beaux-Arts architecture, unsurprisingly the place was one of the festival's main attractions.

"How does Paris compare to Berlin?" The voice of her companion called Ameline back from her musing.

She turned around only to find her fiancé's gaze currently fixed upon the grand sculpture standing in the middle of the square, the La Fontaine Bartholdi.

"They each have their own charm," she said. "Why do you ask me such question? You too have been to both cities, have you not?" She smiled when their eyes met.

"Yes, but you have lived in both cities much longer than I have," he turned his gaze back to the sculpture.

Sometimes she hated how she was always able to see through the intricate façade of his words. With the exception of his two closest friends and comrades, Zach always conducted himself with the utmost propriety around everyone else. Yet, no matter how carefully he might phrase his words, subtlety was not often his strength.

As usual, she decided to ignore the subtext behind his words.

"Paris feels… less overwhelming than Berlin," she said, trying to recall the summer months she had spent in the French capital. "People don't get squeezed onto the narrow pavements when infantries pass by. Not every building is a barrack. There are more libraries, museums, and art galleries too." She was sure it would have been even more lovely, had she visited the city under different circumstances.

"It would seem that Paris suits you much better than this little town." His reply came a little too quickly for comfort.

"I like it here well enough," she answered softly.

Seeing as he said nothing, she made a few steps towards the fountain. "And _some_ parts do feel close to home." Her eyes fell on the majestic sculpture on the fountain, a depiction of a woman on a chariot controlling four wild horses.

"Hmph," he shrugged. "I cannot say for sure if they didn't simply steal our sculpture design." A hint of disdain was evident in his tone.

"Certainly you don't mean that, Zach?" She felt eager to respond to his comment. "This Quadriga design is commonly found in European sculpture. In fact, the one on Brandenburg Gate itself was modeled after the Roman Triumphal Quadriga."

"You really do know everything, don't you?"

Despite such words, his eyes were gentle and there was no mockery in his voice. For a moment, Ameline could really feel her heart beat faster.

Regaining her composure, she turned back to the sculpture. "Actually, you were kind of right. They _did_ steal our sculpture." A small smile donned her lips.

When he finally turned to her with a questioning look, her face brightened. "Napoleon looted the Brandenburg Gate's Quadriga back to France after his occupation of Berlin, remember?"

She could see right then that he was trying hard to hold back his laughter. After all, public image was sacred to him. She almost felt a little bad to have mentioned this story.

"This is why I love talking to you, Ameline," he said suddenly, catching her completely off guard.

Yes. Ameline loved how she could tell whether there was sincerity in his words. She also loved how sweet her name sounded on his lips.

"Please, tell me more." He gave her a gentle smile.

"Yes." She looked away, trying to hide the rosy tint rising on her cheeks. "Did you know that the sculptor who made this fountain was also the one who designed the Statue of Liberty in America?" she said excitedly. "And, uhm…"

Ameline was trying to recall what the Mayor of Lyon had told her on her first visit to the town square. "Ah, the four horses on the fountain are supposed to represent the four great rivers of France, one of which passes right through Lyon, the Rhône. And then there is the Seine, the Loire, and the-"

She only noticed then that his gaze had drifted elsewhere. He was staring at something, or someone, behind them. It took her a moment to trace the subject of his attention.

It was a lady of striking beauty with golden hair that would rival Rapunzel.

* * *

"I think it's time to leave."

Marianne turned away from the crowd and headed for the black car parked in the far corner.

"What's wrong, Annie?" Gabrielle hurried after her friend. "There's still some time till the premiere, right?"

They stopped at one of the less conspicuous alleyways.

"Do you remember that German officer over there by the fountain?" Her petite friend shot a quick look back at the crowded square.

Gabrielle followed her gaze to the La Fontaine, where stood a small group of German officers, who also happened to be deterring all civilians from approaching the lovely spot. She glanced past each hateful face but couldn't pinpoint anyone familiar.

"The blonde one with the ponytail," said Marianne, lowering her voice. "We met him at the Wehrmacht headquarter."

"Ah, yes. What about him?" asked Gabrielle, trying to recall the ruckus of that day.

"I think he's been staring at me".

"Maybe he's just a little smitten with you, the dazzling movie star whose face is on every poster around town?" Gabrielle said half-jokingly, stealing another peek at the man in question. Perhaps that was not it. He seemed to be enjoying lovely company, a girl whose attire and poise spoke of a privileged life. Gabrielle couldn't quite make out her face from this distance.

"On the contrary, I think he has something against me," her friend huffed, tossing the long hair over her shoulder. "Remember how rude he was to us?"

"I don't really blame him. You were making quite a scene back then," Gabrielle chuckled. It fact, it was almost a miracle that they had been allowed to leave the place without even a warning.

"I'm sorry, Brie. I wish we could stay longer."

Realizing what her friend had meant, Gabrielle quickly responded, "No, you were right. It's best not to attract unwanted attention." She smiled, waving her hand dismissively.

The 5th of December was not only the traditional start of the festival but also happened to be Gabrielle's birthday. For as long as she could remember, they had always come here on this very day to celebrate. All three of them, she, Marianne and Roxanne.

Her smiled wavered at the memory.

"I wish Roxanne could be here with us." Marianne let out a heavy sigh.

"Let's go." Gabrielle wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders as they went.

However, she stopped just as they came up to chauffeur waiting patiently by the car's door.

"Something's wrong?" asked Marianne.

"Why don't you go on ahead? I want to hang around for a bit more. I'll see you at the theater later."

Marianne squinted her eyes playfully and spoke with a mischievous grin, "You still think the rendezvous point is by the fountain, don't you?"

"Well, I mean…," answered Gabrielle, slightly flustered.

A few weeks ago, after some thorough consideration she had proudly suggested that the La Fontaine Bartholdi must have something to do with the rendezvous. But to her solitary disappointment, her friends had completely debunked the theory, with Arthur specifically confirming that the code was lyrics to an old English rhyme.

Even so, the determined chef wasn't quite willing to let it go.

"I've told you, hun, it can't be _that_ obvious," tartly said the impatient actress. "Besides, Arthur has positively assured us that our contact wants to meet up at the film premiere. Do you doubt him?"

"No, but I just have this feeling," retorted Gabrielle stubbornly. "You know, just in case… What if they have left some clue around?"

Sighing in defeat, Marianne seated herself inside the car. "Alright, I'll send the car to pick you up in an hour. Have fun."

"Thanks, Annie."

Gabrielle waved goodbye to her friend before rejoining the crowd, heading back to the fountain now finally free of "German occupation". She briefly felt sorry for whichever festive site the Teutonic gang had decided to plague next with their presence.

The evening chill was beginning to set in. She tightened the rose-patterned scarf around her neck, approached the fountain and took out a coin from her purse. Her eyes gleamed with a fitful glee before squeezing shut.

_May freedom come back to France._

_May everyone she knows and loves be kept safe from harm._

_And may God give us a sign._

With the coin lying at the bottom of the fountain, she looked back at the sculpture, her emerald eyes dashing back and forth between each stallion.

Trying to recall the lyrics to the rhyme, unthinkingly she started to sing its words aloud.

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,  
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  
All the king's horses and all the king's men  
Couldn't put Humpty together again."

There was nothing at all unusual about the place, no inconspicuous inscriptions, no suspicious characters, no hidden packages. Nothing. Eventually the wounded chef hung her head in defeat and admitted it was time to leave.

That was when she spotted a large dark shadow looming over her own in the barely-reflective water, which was a rare sight for Gabrielle. There weren't that many whom she had met that could rival her height.

As she turned around she was immediately greeted by a familiar, heart-stopping visage.

"That was a strange choice of song."

"Captain Herschel?" uttered Gabrielle, struggling to move her feet off the ground.

"How have you been, Gabrielle?"

Nikolaus was standing just a few feet away. His eyes and his lips were both smiling at her.

* * *

Marianne shifted in her chair, her slender fingers drumming restlessly on the dressing table, and once in a while the corner of her right eye would twitch involuntarily. She swung her anxious gaze at the reflection in the mirror, there, another painful sight to look at.

For an actress she really needed to have better control over her emotions than this.

When Arthur informed her that German officials would be invited to the premiere, she never thought he had meant the entire staff of the German army in Lyon. Her stomach knotted up at the thought, for tonight it was her mission, in Arthur's words, to "dazzle" them. For this very reason, she had chosen for herself this vain setup, a burgundy gown with one-shoulder bodice and a long shoulder sash. With her golden hair worn in crown braids, she was determined to paint a picture of an ancient Greek goddess for herself.

If it were last year, Marianne was sure she would have found this idea to be utterly detestable and a deplorable act only a common showgirl would agree to. But tonight, she was willing to be that showgirl, or, playing that showgirl, to be exact. It should be her toughest role yet.

To put on top of this all, her mysterious British associates had decided to pick tonight of all nights to have their rendezvous, and they had also got the nerve to come to this very venue. They might as well be planning a suicide mission.

A sudden knock at the door shook Marianne from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, gliding the lipstick over her lips.

Though the mirror she saw Arthur standing by the door, his expression slightly agitated.

"You ready in here? Michelle and her guests are waiting."

"Yeah, let's go." Marianne dabbed her pinky finger hurriedly at the corners of her lip and sauntered over to his side.

This would be a long night.

As they passed by a mirror in the empty hallway, something caught Marianne's eyes.

"Oh no!"

"What's wrong?" Arthur's steps halted at the sound of her alarming cry.

"It was a little dark back in the dressing room. I picked the wrong lipstick color."

"What…?" His tone softened, and he squinted at her mirror reflection. "I think it looks perfect on you."

"No, it doesn't, Arthur! It doesn't go with my gown at all." The actress pouted at herself in the mirror.

"They're all red."

"No, it should be a darker shade," she sighed and turned around. But then she spotted a certain object. "There, like the color of those roses. _That's_ what I would call perfect!" She pointed to a movie poster on the wall, one depicting a garden of roses.

"Trust me. You look absolutely stunning. We need to hurry," pleaded Arthur.

"Alright," she muttered begrudgingly, taking his arm. "By the way, why haven't they taken these old posters down? I imagine those Germans will throw a fuss if they see them."

"It'll be alright. Tonight only theater staff is allowed back here. But I'll be sure to inform the owner later." He gave her a reassuring tap on the hand.

When they arrived in the hall, it was packed with guests, many of whom was dressed in the distinct gray uniform that every French civilian had learned to despise. The scene almost reminded her of that night in Paris. At the thought a certain silver-haired figure flashed through her mind, and unwittingly she found herself wondering if that person was attending the premiere.

Before her thoughts could carry her any further, Arthur had called her back to reality. "Chin up, Marianne. Here we come."

The beautiful violinist smiled at them from across the room, where she was surrounded by a group of towering Germans.

"Ah, Marianne, there you are. These gentlemen have been asking after you all evening."

Almost in synchronization, the men turned their heads up. The corner of Marianne's lips twitched slightly as she noticed the familiar face among them.

"Apparently, these lots are all _somebody_'s son back in Germany. We need to pay them extra attention." With a hurried whisper, Arthur released her arm.

"Gentlemen, may I have the honor of presenting one of tonight's biggest stars, Mademoiselle Marianne Lavigne?"

At Michelle's words Marianne could feel all their assessing eyes upon her, only a few modest enough to stay above her neck.

"The honor is all mine, officers," she smiled coyly, holding out her hand to the man to her nearest right, whose dark violet eyes were gleaming with a plainly visible interest. She also noted he had almost silvery hair, and a diamond ring on his left thumb that was hard to overlook.

"Marianne, may I introduce General Dominic von Kluge?"

Not straying his eyes from her face, the General's brought his lips down on her hand. The contact lasted longer than she had liked.

"Charmed, mademoiselle."

Surely being blessed with this ghostly shade of a hair color wasn't a prerequisite for attaining the General rank in the German Army? They even shared the same domineering temperament, save for perhaps their voices. The voice from her memory was warmer.

"And this is Colonel Ernst Ludwig von Falkenhayn, Major Joachim von Donnersmarck, Major Friedrich August Wilhelm von Möllendorf."

As Michelle fastidiously articulated the painful syllables, Marianne did her best to grace each of them with a courteous smile dosed with just the right amount of allure, until she reached the last man.

"And finally, I believe you've already made his acquaintance, Major Zachary Keitel."

It was hard not to notice that his name was the only one lacking that ennobling "von".

"So we meet again, lady Lavigne."

For the first time this evening the Major had shown Marianne something other than disdain, but she loathed it just the same, the way his eyes were scrutinizing her face, and how it made her even more insecure about her lipstick mishap. She couldn't help but bite her lips in frustration.

Marianne quickly anchored her attention back on the handsome General who was tendering a glass of Chardonnay.

"I'm very much looking forward to watching your performance tonight," said Dominic.

"You are too kind, General. Though I fear you might be disappointed, for I only play a side character."

"Sometimes I find side characters more intriguing. We don't get to see so much of them, and that leaves a lot to the imagination. Mystery is a powerful invocation of desire, wouldn't you say?"

There was something unusual in his voice, his particular choice of vocabulary, and his unsettling appraising look that, to her mild surprise and frustration, never wandered below her jaw line.

"I see our General is not only trained in the arts of war but also well-versed in theatricality," she said, slightly closing their distance.

The other three von-what's-his-name didn't take long to join the conversation, apparently jealous of the special attention their superior was receiving.

Zachary, however, soon excused himself from the group, to Marianne's delight. Eventually so did Michelle, Arthur, and everyone else, leaving only Marianne and the silver-haired man.

When a waiter interrupted and offered to refill her glass, Dominic simply waved a dismissive hand, took the bottle and poured the liquid himself.

"I'm sure words like these are only empty flattery you're tired of hearing, but I must say the posters have really done you no justice."

"Thank you. But it's still rare to hear them coming from a man such as yourself."

"A man such as myself?" His almond-shaped eyes narrowed dangerously.

Marianne took a careful sip of the Chardonnay and waited for the flinty aftertaste to subside before taking a step closer. "Do you really care to know, General?"

Almost immediately she regretted the bold move, when his face loomed closer.

"You have no idea, mademoiselle." His sultry voice was close to a whisper. The pungent cologne clouded her senses, rendering her incapable of a sensible response. Something told Marianne she had just voluntarily stepped onto a minefield.

As if seeing through her already crumbling façade, he took a step back and gestured at a waiter, the smirk disappearing from his face. The release from those patronizing violet eyes brought Marianne her much-welcomed moment of composure.

At his command the waiter promptly took away their glasses.

"The movie should be starting soon. Shall I accompany you to your seat, mademoiselle?" Dominic bowed slightly and offered his hand.

"How could I possibly say no?" She forced a smile and reached out her hand.

His grasp was like that of a Venus flytrap catching its first prey on a winter morning, a gripping touch of iron and ice.

They were about to enter the auditorium when a commotion disrupted from the theater entrance. It would seem the real star of the night had finally arrived. Marianne gave in to her curiosity and turned around for a peek.

At the center of the crowd stood Beatrice de Polignac, the movie's heroine. Her dark crimson lipstick matched her hair so perfectly that Marianne wished nothing more at that moment than to dip her own lips inside a mud fountain.

Her frustration quickly turned to surprise when she noticed who was escorting the prima donna. For once she and Marianne had something in common. They were both clinging onto the arm of a silver-haired German General.

* * *

Gabrielle could not quite explain how things had got to this point. Moments ago she was standing in the middle of the wintry square, ambushed by a man who had set the record of giving her the most jump scares over the course of one afternoon. Yet here she was, sitting by the Rhône riverbank having coffee with him.

To her only relief, he wasn't wearing the usual black uniform, the kind that foretold trouble and misery from miles away. This way other people would not get the wrong impression, at least not a negative one. The way he was comfortably leaning forward would make any passer-by mistake this for a date.

"What's wrong? You haven't said anything for a while," he asked.

She took a gulp of the Café au lait, hoping the prolonged silence would somehow justify itself.

"Perhaps you are scared of me?" he chuckled. "Well, it's only understandable."

"No, it's just…" Her nails scratched unconsciously at the cup's porcelain textures. "I'm a little cold," she coughed softly, taking another sip from the hot drink. She wasn't exactly lying. The evening zephyr had indeed turned chilly.

"I didn't realize you were. I'm sorry, we should have taken a table inside." Taking off his coat, he stood up, walked around behind her chair, and without hesitation wrapped his coat around her shoulders.

To her own frustration, she actually reddened at his gesture. "Thank you," she muttered as faintly as her voice could manage.

"Gabrielle."

She glanced up to find him already back in his seat.

"May I call you Gabrielle?"

"Yes."

He certainly hadn't asked for any permission last time, she noted. What was he trying to do? Pampering the lamb before bringing it inside the slaughter house?

"You see, Gabrielle, Lyon's climate is a bit warm for me, even in this weather."

She didn't understand why he had felt the need to dwell further on this matter. But there was so much more about this man she didn't understand, so many questions she had wanted to ask since the last time they saw each other, but none she could voice.

"I see," she replied dispassionately. "Well, I've never been to Germany before. Is it much colder over there?"

"Where I'm from, yes." His voice sounded huskier than usual.

"And which part of Germany is that? If you don't mind me asking."

"My mother was from Stuttgart."

_I wasn't asking about your mother_, was how she would have gladly retorted, had he been any regular French citizen.

"Gabrielle, you never did answer my question from earlier."

"I beg your pardon?"

Underneath the table she intertwined her fingers, the rose-polished nails agitatedly scratching the back of her hands.

"Why did you sing that song?"

At that moment Gabrielle began to hear the creaking sound of the slaughter chamber slowly opening inside her head.

"It's just something I sing whenever I'm bored," she said, trying to keep up with his appraising gaze. "I have an aunt from England. She used to sing it to me all the time."

Her good sense soon kicked in. _What are you saying, Gabrielle? What if he goes back and traces your entire family tree?_

"Is that so?" A faint smile curled his lips. "You don't have to be on guard. I wasn't spying on you. It was a coincidence that I spotted you from the crowd, and I just thought what a pity it was to let a beautiful girl stand there all alone."

"Well, thank you. It's a little tradition of mine. I visit the town square every year on my birthday."

She hung her head low, unable to meet his eyes any longer, which was odd when she was finally telling the truth.

"Today is your birthday?"

She duly nodded.

"I wish you had told me sooner." With that he stood up, crossed the street and disappeared into a small florist's, leaving Gabrielle to ponder after countless questions.

She couldn't explain his behaviors, his motives, or virtually anything about him, but at the same time she was too scared to admit to the idea that there might be more to him than just a foot soldier of an evil empire who enjoyed mind games.

When he emerged from the shop a few minutes later, he was holding a small bouquet of flowers modestly wrapped in Kraft paper, a bland color choice for a birthday gift.

"Happy birthday," he smiled, presenting the bouquet.

"Th-thank you." Her hands reached out hesitantly for the gift. Knowing it a wrong thing to be feeling, she still couldn't resist the slight tinge of joy that was creeping through. Her cheeks turned a little rosy, almost to match the flowers he had chosen.

Roses, red and white.

"I thought this would be just the perfect gift for you."

"Why is that?" Her gaze dropped to the floras.

"The war of the roses?" he said as if the phrase meant something.

"I'm afraid I still don't see what you're getting at."

"The infamous war between the houses of York and Lancaster?"

Still, all she could give him was a befuddling look.

"Strange. You don't know the story behind the rhyme you seem to love so much. I imagine your aunt would have told you at least once, no?" His chuckle rung all the bells inside her head.

The butcher had never had any intention of letting the little lamb go after all. Gabrielle hugged the bouquet closer to her chest and braced for the worst.

"In that case, I'll fill you in." Not waiting for her reply, he spoke. "A long time ago, there were two great houses in England, the York, whose sigil was a white rose, and the Lancaster, who instead chose a red rose for their symbol. For nearly 30 years they fought over the English throne, hence the name the War of the Roses. Now, what this has to do with that little rhyme is." He took a casual gulp from his drink and continued. "It is said that Humpty Dumpty is King Richard III, the last King of the York, who fell off his horse and met his violent death on the field of Bosworth in the final battle of the war. He had suffered a major bludgeon in the head, you see, and so none of his horses nor his men could put him together again."

When he had finished, Gabrielle laid the bouquet down on the table, tucked away the hanging bangs from her left eye, and faced him with an unrelenting glare.

"Why did you tell me this story?"

"I think they were showing a movie about this a while ago, before new orders from Dr. Goebbels came down. Did you happen to catch it?" He simply ignored her question, a visible smirk creeping up on his face.

"Why did you tell me this story?" she demanded, putting her strength into each syllable.

He stopped smiling and sat up straight, his fingers tapping lightly on the cold surface of the table. He didn't look at her when he said his next words.

"If you leave now, I think you can still catch the premiere."

Slowly Gabrielle loosened her grip on the table.

"You…?"

"You should have just left with your actress friend."

**End of Chapter 8.**

* * *

**To RD**: Please log in when you leave a comment next time so I can reply to you personally. Now to answer your question: Yes, I will be continuing that story soon!

**H/N:**

Alexanderplatz: a public square in central Berlin.

La Fontaine Bartholdi: a fountain built at the Place des Terreaux, Lyon. The sculpture on the fountain depicts 4 horses that represent the four great rivers of France: Seine, Loire, Rhône and Garonne. It was designed by Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi who also designed the Statue of Liberty.

Quadriga: a design of a chariot drawn by four horses. Most modern quadriga sculptures are based on the Roman "Triumphal Quadriga". Napoleon looted a bunch of these in his conquers, including the one on Brandenburg Gate and the Triumphal Quadriga.

The War of the Roses and Humpty Dumpty: Richard III's death is actually just one of the theories about the origin of the rhyme, but I've decided to go with it for my story.

Not very relevant to this chapter but: I recently found out there really was a Gestapo Captain named Nikolaus in history, who was nicknamed the "Butcher of Lyon" for his inhumane tortures of prisoners in Lyon. Talk about scary coincidences…


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